


Tales of Brave Ulysses

by snarklyboojum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Children's Literature, Dragons, Heaven, Jefferson Starships - Freeform, Kitsune, M/M, Nue - Freeform, Purgatory, Trueform Castiel, Unicorns, Vampires, Vessels, Werewolves, Wild Things - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarklyboojum/pseuds/snarklyboojum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, before all that other shit went down in Purgatory, Dean and Cas found a road?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Click here to view the accompanying art for this piece on livejournal. ](http://novakiel.livejournal.com/838.html)

"Monsters don’t die early; they hang on long. Awfully long. Their vanity’s infinite, almost as infinite as their disgust with themselves." — Tennessee Williams, _Sweet Bird of Youth_

+++

Angels were taught that God loved all his creations and reserved a special place in his heart for his favorites, but the reality was this: God just hated throwing anything away. He was a hoarder. Or - if you pardon the metaphor - a writer who saved all his drafts, just in case. Matter cannot be created or destroyed, only changed over time.

Like all great works the creation and growth of earth took a lot of trial and error. The first sentient life was messy and unfinished, with notes to expand here and there, all of it in need of a good red pen. Purgatory was the place God put them when he was ready to move on to stage two – essentially the recycle bin of the universe, an oubliette, a place to put something before you throw it away. The entire sphere was just waiting for someone to click EMPTY for a purge.

Parts of purgatory were good, little pockets here and there that were scrubbed up clean and sent to the editor. But most of it was dark; God had been in a very bad mood at the beginning of time. Solitude and boredom will do that, even to the Creator of All Things. He made up stories to pass the time, his voice echoing through the grand cathedrals of Nothing that existed before there was Something to fill it. He thought up myths of creatures made of light and darkness, beings to share his yearning desire for _someone else_. An answering call through eternity.

He should have known better. A world created out of loneliness expanded upon itself infinitely, producing countless attempts to achieve connection. Cellular divide, evolution, the reproduction of species, photosynthesis. All variations on a theme and all damnably impossible to achieve.

In the end he couldn’t bear to part with his first misshapen attempts at creating a friend. So: purgatory.

His ultimate creatures (the final draft version sketched into shape all those eons ago) were less than perfect. Humans were dirty and cruel and destructive. They endangered everything he’d made for them. Some didn’t even think he existed or caused violence in his name. His finger hovered over the DELETE key more often than he cared to think about… but something always stopped the final push toward apocalypse. Something always reminded him of why he started the ball rolling in the first place.

He’d put too much of himself into the humans. They grew lonely in the vastness and put pieces of themselves into the world, sending out stories in the hopes of receiving something in the telling; someone to read it, someone to sit around a fire and listen. All of life was told in stories, even if men didn’t realize they were in a constant state of narration.

The simple tales were the best ones. They were far easier to get your point across with. For example: _Once upon a time, a hunter and an angel found themselves abandoned in the forest. It was dark and they were surrounded by monsters._

No. Back up. Nothing began with “once upon a time” these days. Too much time’s passed for that to work. It was all about instant gratification and _in medias res_. That’s how life was after all: epic moments sprinkled with character development with a little bit of comedy or romance for flavor.

It was almost always better to join the story already in progress.

+++

+++

Dean kept fear like an old man keeps a handkerchief in his pocket, well used and dependable. He was a hunter, born and bred, a predator of predators. Every hunter knew fear, relied on it, let it keep their instincts sharp. Eventually hunters conquered their fears or let themselves be consumed by them.

Dean had been afraid so many times in his life, but nothing quite like this. He looked around at the long dark of purgatory and knew there were things moving around him, things he couldn’t see. Things hiding in the shadows he had no training for.

It was like Hell all over again. Alone. Afraid. Listening to the monsters creep in closer with every breath.

The hair on the back of his neck trembled, a vulnerable spot just under his collar that made his shoulders itch to hunch up and protect it. He glanced frantically around him, trying not to move too quickly for fear of drawing something’s attention. All he could see were red lights, pairs of them, dozens of burning eyes staring back, shifting in the dark.

“Cas?” At first all he dared was whisper, then his voice came louder. The fear drove out everything Bobby’d taught him about being quiet in the woods. _“Cas?”_

Movement down the way – brown fabric in the middle of all the black, falling down. Cas, stumbling to one knee in a place worn smooth and clear between the trees. (Some kind of path, maybe a game trail, and there was his angel, _there_.)

Dean started forward at a jog but his boots slipped on the mulchy ground and he fell, hard, onto his belly. The breath was knocked away from him.

He took a second to regroup, thinking _stupid stupid stupid_. By the time he focused enough to push himself onto his knees he could hear something moving toward him, scratching through the undergrowth. Ahead and to his left the bushes parted and – something – furry with teeth and claws crept out, eyes flashing silver in the moonlight. Dean didn’t recognize it from the vast bestiary he lugged around in his head. He could see the fangs, though, drooling with anticipation, and knew it was only a matter of time.

His pockets were heavy with weaponry but he wasn’t sure what to use or even what he’d have time for. The gun? No, the machete. There was very little in this world or any other that wouldn’t be put down for at least a little while with a good blade through its throat. The creature’s muscles were bunching under the fur, gauging the distance, readying for attack.

Dean’s hand had just closed on the machete handle when what he’d thought was the shadow of a tree dislodged itself from the forest and pounced on the monster in front of him, knocking them both into the far darkness on the other side of the game trail. They thrashed in the bushes, the larger shadow pushing against the other; all Dean could make out was a blur of red eyes and dark scales tearing at the smaller beast. Then an anguished cry, a burst of white light – like a camera flash going off, making Dean’s eyes water – and a chortling howl, like eerie laughter. The red eyes around him were moving in, snarling, growling; shadows the size of trees blocked the light from his view and –

– ignored Dean completely.

He stood on shaky legs, machete clutched in his scraped hand, and slowly inched his way around the apparent bloodbath happening on the other side of the bushes. Dean could just barely see Cas hunkered on the ground a few feet away. He stumbled there, careful of his footing, and tugged on the sleeve of Cas’ coat. 

The angel stubbornly refused to budge. He stayed hunched in on himself, breathing deeply. Dean could see his shoulders trembling in the dim light. Behind them something screamed, triumphantly.

He grabbed Cas’ arm, yanking him to his feet and hauling ass down the track. “Dude, we gotta go. _Now_.”

“No!” Cas dug in his heels, nearly making Dean fall down again. He pin-wheeled a second, arms flailing, and Cas pulled him back in close for balance. Dean wound up with his head cradled between Cas’ chin and neck, their breath echoing heavy and damp in the darkness.

“Listen carefully, Dean,” Cas whispered, his gravel voice tickling the soft skin behind Dean’s ear. A shiver crawled down his spine to where his arms were tucked in against his sides by Cas’ body. “We do not run. _Never run_ , no matter what. It only attracts their attention. When I say we walk slowly forward, keeping calm. Whatever you do, _don’t run_ and don’t look back.” 

He unfolded from Dean – slowly, ever so slowly – and allowed him to hold his own weight again. The bushes shifted behind them and Dean flinched, fighting every instinct he’d ever had to keep his feet planted. Leisurely, like two old friends strolling through the woods, Dean and Cas left the monsters behind them and soon the shrieks and slurps and other obscene noises disappeared into the strangeness of the trees.

Dean found himself grateful for Cas’ iron grip on his sleeve, no matter how undignified and childish it made him feel. He’d never been so scared of the dark in his entire life.

+++

The calm decree Cas placed over them lasted until they crested a small hill and passed out of sight of the little clearing. Then their feet finally caught up to the pounding of their hearts and they took off, sprinting through the darkness. The moon was full, or close to it, and Dean’s eyes had adjusted as well as they were going to but he still couldn’t see more than three feet in front of his face. He probably would have run straight into a tree if it wasn’t for the beacon of Cas’ coat in front of him, leading the way into the unknown.

Eventually after what seemed like hours of running they stumbled to a stop, Dean heaving for breath. Even Cas was panting. 

“Cas. What—” Dean fought his body’s desire to curl in on itself, planting his hands on his hips so his lungs could do their job. He pushed the words out between gasping breaths. “What were those things?”

Cas straightened from his slouch, looking behind them. His face was a grimace in the pale light. “Monsters of the abyss. Beyond that I have no idea.” 

_“Son of a bitch!”_ He slapped a branch out of his way and then stopped, listening to his voice echo off the trees around them. _Not the brightest move there, dumbass._

But Cas shook his head. “I don’t sense them nearby anymore. We should be safe enough to rest here for awhile, if you need it.”

Thing was, though, he really didn’t. Now that his breath was coming easier he felt like he could probably keep going if he had to; his muscles were a little fatigued but not really sore like they usually were after a long run, and his trick knee was fine. Dean sat down anyway, butt nestled on a bit of mossy earth and back leaning against a tree. He jerked forward again quickly. “Hey, this thing’s not gonna go _Evil Dead_ on me if I sit here or anything, is it?”

“I don’t think the trees are dangerous here.” Cas squinted at an oddly twisted sycamore growing just a few to the left of where Dean had plopped down. “Except maybe that one.”

Dean couldn’t help it. He groaned and fell hard onto his butt, knees all akimbo.

“Dean? Are you all right? Do you feel ill?”

“I just... Fucking _purgatory_ , man. Talk about going from the frying pan and into the fire.” 

_Okay,_ he thought. _No need to panic. Do that weird yoga thing Lisa taught you._ Dean breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth a couple times, holding the inhale for a three count. He had to do it twice before he felt he could reasonably carry on the conversation. “So how fucked are we here? Is there really no way out?”

Cas stared through the trees into the darkness, his body stiff like a hunting dog on point. “I don’t honestly know. My knowledge of purgatory is limited at best. Mostly it involves how to break in, not the opposite.” It was hard to make out his expression in the dark but Dean assumed it was ‘angrily guilty’. He swallowed. “The only methods I know of creatures escaping involve elements from the earthly plane, like when the Mother’s followers freed her.” 

“And Sam ain’t sacrificing virgins into a volcano to get us out.” Or at least he better not be. Which meant they were on their own. Trapped in purgatory. _Fuck_.

All right. No use crying about it. If he and Cas were gonna survive being stuck in this hellhole until they figured a way out then Dean needed to know exactly how fucked they were. Time to prioritize. Injuries first, then inventory. The scratches on his palms from falling were negligible, barely worth noticing. They didn’t even hurt anymore, if they had at all. Cas seemed fine…ish so he turned out his pockets onto the mossy roots around him.

There was his lighter, a small bag of salt, a canteen of holy water (full), a canteen of whiskey (half full), extra ammo, and an extra crunchy hex bag. He also had his machete, a pistol, his backup bowie knife, and a squirt gun full of Borax though Cas had carried the majority of their supply and seemed to have lost it between Dick’s roman candle act and now. The machete was good; his best defense as long as he took care of it – not everything died by steel but a sharp edge worked to delay the inevitable every time. Everything else he had was finite. (And slightly damp. Purgatory was one humid place.) If he was getting all _Castaway_ about it he had his watch, wallet, cell phone, coat, boots, shoelaces, two shirts, a pair of jeans, and his underwear. All of which could be shredded or torn apart if they needed to be. 

It wasn’t much of an arsenal but he’d been in worse situations. Granted, he’d been in Hell, too, literally, so his standards were pretty high for a survivalist. He glanced up to where Cas was feeling around, hands raised to hip level, fingers splayed like he was divining water. 

Add to the inventory: one angel in a trench coat with questionable sanity. _Fuck._

“Cas. How you holding up over there? Your mojo wasn’t working so well back in the clearing.”

Cas ignored him, staring intently at the ground.

 _“Cas.”_ He looked up, finally. Dean schooled his expression into something along the lines of _‘what the hell are you doing’_ only politer. He hoped.

Cas frowned and looked back down. “There is a path here. I felt it snag against me when I first sought escape.”

Dean chewed on that one awhile, gnashing the anger between his teeth like gristle on a steak. (Surely Cas hadn’t planned on leaving Dean there to rot by himself, no matter what it might have looked like. Or what he’d just _said_.) It took him a minute to actually register what Cas was talking about. “Wait, there’s a what?”

“A path. Someone’s built a road.”

He stuffed the pitiful arsenal back into his pockets and joined Cas on the game trail. The night was still harsh around them, the full moon shining through the canopy enough to make out general shapes and the occasional surprisingly crisp detail. It was like every other Midwestern forest Dean’d ever hunted in except… _more_. More menacing, more… woodsy, he supposed. And running right through it, as far as he could see in the gloom, a small place in the underbrush where the grass had been pushed flat by passing bodies. 

He didn’t want to think about what type of bodies could have made the trail, so of course it was the first thing out of his mouth. “Who would build a road through _purgatory_?”

“Someone who had somewhere to go.” Cas licked his lips and straightened his shoulders, practically quivering with anticipation. “I think we should follow it.”

“Uh yeah, I don’t think so. I mean, how do you know we won’t wind up on some monster’s doorstep?”

Cas huffed, the roll of his eyes visible thanks to a patch of light. “It is a _road_ , Dean. In _purgatory_ , as you said. What is the purpose of a road but to take it? All journeys end with a homecoming of one kind or another.”

A homecoming. Dean looked back the way they’d come and saw only trees and shrubbery, like the woods where he and Sam used to hunt with Bobby, lit by the gossamer moon. 

He looked in the direction Cas was staring; forest that way, too.

Dean rubbed his roughened hands over his face, pressing the palms into his eyes. (Didn’t even hurt _at all_ , what the hell?) He secured the machete a little more comfortably in its sheath and took a deep breath. Looked like he was putting his faith in the hands of a man who liked to talk to bees for fun. “Whatever. Let’s follow the brown dirt road. After you, Scarecrow.”

Cas frowned again. “I understand that reference, you know. They were playing the movie on television while I was in the hospital. Despite my recent forays into madness my brain is still firmly in place, thank you.”

“Of course it is,” Dean sighed. Why couldn’t Cas get the cool references for once, instead of the lame ones?

+++

They walked steadily into the darkness, led by some strange compass in Cas’ head keeping tabs on the path under their feet. Dean wasn’t sure how far they traveled, or how long they marched; the moon never moved from the heights above them, set at an eternal midnight. It felt like a long time but he knew that everything seemed like forever in the dark silence.

Then, in the distance, came the _whump_ of great wings overhead.

“Get down!” Cas grabbed at Dean’s jacket and pulled him to the ground, shoving his face into a plant. They crawled under a thick group of bushes, Dean coughing up leaves the entire time.

The sound grew louder, more immediate, and Cas clamped his hand over Dean’s nose in time to muffle the last sneeze. A massive shadow flew above them, the passage of its wings shaking the shrubs and branches around them. It completely blocked out the moon’s light and Dean could barely make out the trunk of it through the trees, the edges blurring into the darkness. It looked like some kind of Lovecraftian horror; the angles and movement of its flight just _wrong_ to watch. 

They edged out from under the bush - thorns scratching at Dean’s hair and tugging at Cas’ coat - and watched it fly away, a slowly shrinking silhouette in the sky. Dean’s shoulders hunched right up by his ears and he couldn’t seem to close his mouth. “That’s the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. And I once walked in on Bobby in the shower, so the threshold’s pretty high.” 

“It is… disturbing, I admit. I think it’s a groth-golka.” 

“Gesundheit. Is that enochian for lizard-bird-tumor? ‘Cause that’s what it looked like from here.”

“They were described to me as God’s first dinosaur.”

“Awesome. I’m not asking for definitions again. Are there gonna be more of those things around?” 

“Probably. They’re one of the earliest examples of the supernatural on earth so there’s likely more than one lingering here. Groth-golkas aren’t contemporary with your species so as long as you don’t antagonize them they shouldn’t think you’re food.”

“Huh. Well, that’s encouraging I guess.”

They watched the last of the creature pass by overhead – claws the size of the Impala, _damn_ – then began to pick their way down the path again, a little more weary. Dean considered the idea that he was in shock; after all this walking he should at least be getting thirsty, if not hungry and tired. It was best if he drank _something_ , even if the only supplies he had were the two flasks in his pocket. He fiddled with the tiny container of holy water – a valuable commodity but one that could be replaced if necessary. Still, the thought of more grothy monsters made him take a swig of the whiskey instead. The small sip sat heavy and burning in his gut. It hovered at a low smolder far longer than usual and then faded into nothing. 

He might as well have drunk from the holy water for all the good it did to settle his nerves.

Cas leaned in close and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when their shoulders brushed together. Cas didn’t seem to notice, just whispered like he was imparting the secrets of the universe or something. “It’s not really a groth-golka, you know. They all died out several hundred millennia ago. That was just a representation of the energy it gathered during its time on earth. It wasn’t actually here at all.” He smiled that dorky little half-smile, the corner of his mouth denting inward. “This forest isn’t here. _We’re_ not here. I’m sure this world is quite satisfactory for those without a physical shape of their own any more, but what _you’re_ perceiving as reality is just your body’s way of translating signals it’s receiving from a plane of existence it was never meant to perceive. It’s the same on earth, only your physical body is designed to accept that type of stimulation. Ghosts and shades are just the remnants of a human’s energy that didn’t change planes properly when their body became inaccessible at death.” 

“So purgatory is filled with monster ghosts?” There was a rustling in the bushes to their left and Dean raised his machete. “And where do angels fit into all that?” 

Cas squinted into the dark at the moving thing then continued on, blithely ignoring whatever small creature was grumbling at their passing. “As a being not meant for either world I perceive both the reality and the facade thanks to my grace’s containment in Jimmy Novak’s body. It sometimes makes my perspective a little… complicated.” He twirled a finger around his head in the universal signal for _a little loco in the cabeza_. “It’s no wonder I had trouble finding my way when we first arrived; it takes time to adjust to all the new stimuli of a different level of existence. And I still wasn’t one hundred percent when Dick exploded.” 

Dean grimaced and sucked in a breath through his teeth. The dick jokes were finally getting to be a little too much. Or maybe it was just hearing Cas say one that made it wrong instead of hilarious. 

Cas caught his expression and frowned. “Oh, the unintentional penis reference made it awkward again. What have you been calling Dick’s implosion?”

“ _The Roman Candle._ ” Dean smiled, proud of himself for that one. Cas just nodded and Dean’s ego deflated a little bit. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What was the deal with him, anyway? I mean, wasn’t it a little weird that the only thing that could kill him was a very specific type of bone from an animal that didn’t exist the last time leviathans were on earth? That’s like having the toenail of a virgin stegosaurus be the only thing that could take down Al-Qaeda. Seems like a stupid failsafe, doesn’t it?”

Cas tilted his head, blinking. Behind them whatever was stirring in the bushes settled and Dean tried his best to forget about it for the sake of his blood pressure. “Why are you only bringing up your doubts after the war with them is already over?”

“I’m not so sure it _is_ over. And it’s not like it would have made a difference. Magic tablet tells you to do something, you do it.” He shrugged. “I just assumed Roman was being a dick about it and exaggerating how old he really was.”

“No, the leviathan were around long before man.” Cas contemplated it for a moment, then shrugged. “God works—“

“If you finish that with _in mysterious ways_ I’m gonna shove my foot up your feathery ass. You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

Cas sighed, his face getting all pissy. “I’ve never understood your reluctance toward faith.” They walked quietly for a moment, listening to the sounds of their shoes on the soft ground. Then Cas began to talk quietly. “There was a great uprising many years ago. Before the Christ child was born, a man came very close to raising the monsters trapped here. Some of the creatures locked in this dimension were released, much like when the devil’s gate was opened in your time. The monsters took human hosts and archangels were called in to intervene. The tablet you found was likely a relic from the battles then.” 

He looked into the distance, eyes sweeping for potential danger. “I know this secondhand, of course. My garrison wasn’t stationed on earth until a few thousand years prior to your conception.” And there was an uneasy reminder that Dean’s companion was significantly less (or more) than human himself. “Many people died, though the leviathan weren’t as creative then. I can only assume they used their banishment to formulate a plan of attack.”

“Son of a bitch. Fucking _monsters_.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face, pulling at the stubble. “What are we facing here, man? I mean, how hopeless is this?”

Cas navigated his way around a large rock that covered half the trail. “We found a path, in a place where logic demands one should not exist. I’d say there’s room left for a little hope still.” 

When Dean was a little slow following he turned around. “We have to keep going, Dean. Come on.” And, like a very bewildered and drunken moth, Dean followed the brighter blur of the trench coat into the night.

+++

They hadn’t gone very far from where the grothy monster flew by when there was a rumbling under their feet. They stopped in their tracks, feeling the ground slowly tremble. Dean glanced behind them but couldn’t see anything except a little bit of water rising up through the mud of his boot print. It rippled in the moonlight, then stilled. He could see the vague shape of his face reflected on the surface, eyes huge and ghastly in the white of his expression, until it rippled again.

“Uh, Cas. Have you ever seen Jurassic Park?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s an impact tremor you’re feeling now, that’s what that is. Means there’s something big coming. Or lots of something big.” He gulped, thinking how convenient a jeep would be right now. And a pretty paleobotonist to drive it far the fuck away. “I’m fairly alarmed here. What should we do, man? Should we hide again?”

Cas turned completely around, looking back the way they’d come. Dean stared at the puddle, willing it to not be what he thought it was. “ _Cas?_ What’s our move?”

Cas started walking backward, still facing whatever nightmare was coming up behind them. "We run."

Dean frowned. Damn it. The monster totally _was_ what he thought it was. "You said earlier that'd only get their attention. I mean, what if their vision’s based on movement?" 

"We already have their attention. _Run!_ “

They took off, Dean just a few steps behind Cas, sprinting like their lives depended on it. Moments later a whole herd of _something big_ came hurtling through the bushes toward them. Dean was too busy panting for breath and digging for all the speed he had to take in a lot of details – just the curve of a flank here, slender limbs there, and of course the shiny teeth nipping at their heels. They looked more like velocibears than T-rexes, but Dean was sure they were more than capable of tearing him apart and posing dramatically afterward. 

Just when Dean’s legs grew watery and he was sure he couldn’t force them to move any faster, Cas’ coat disappeared in the darkness ahead of him – for a split second Dean thought he’d left him again, that _motherfucker_ – but then the ground vanished from under Dean’s feet and he was falling too, tumbling ass over tip down what felt like a goddamn _mountain_. In the jumble and tumble Dean heard the velocibears growling fade into the distance.

He eventually rolled to a stop in a ditch or ravine or something, rocks falling around and on top of him and jabbing Dean everywhere. His shoulders snagged against a boulder that probably kept him from hurling all the way to Middle Earth down the hill. It was a good boulder, round and solid and not going anywhere even with two hundred-ish pounds of Winchester leaning against it. 

The dust started to settle and Dean coughed as much of it out of his struggling lungs as he could. He let his head fall back against his friend the boulder and had to blink a few times to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

With the trees finally left behind them he could see the sky clearly for the first time since they arrived in purgatory. There were so many stars, distant little spots of color gleaming in the dark, dark night. There were thousands of them, familiar and strange, countless constellations he couldn’t name. Nebulas twirling and breaking apart as he watched. It was like the big bang was happening right _there_ above him.

Of course, it was also possible he’d hit his head in the fall and that was a concussion talking. Still, _pretty stars_. 

Someone groaned next to his elbow and a few more rocks shifted down on top of them. That was Cas still alive then. Good for him. A head full of dusty dark hair – tangled beyond any hope of repair, even more so than usual – briefly obscured his view of Orion’s Belt.

“Dean? You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just. Gonna sit here a second. Get my wind back.” He propped himself carefully on one elbow, feeling the back of his head with a terribly dirty hand. No blood. And he wasn’t seeing double now that gravity had reasserted itself. There wasn’t any pain anywhere, either, which meant he probably _didn’t_ have a concussion. So… shock? Yeah, he was gonna chock the disorientation up to the shock of being chased by velocibears through a secondary dimension and then falling down Mount Everest. That was shocking, right? Right.

Cas groaned again as he stumbled to his feet. Dean could hear his joints protesting all the way over by his boulder; Cas stretched his back and the crackles were ridiculously loud. He untangled the length of his coat and looked up the cliff face. "I doubt they'll follow us down here. And if they do they'll probably take a less direct route, so we have some time."

"Great. The monsters are smarter than us. Hooray." Dean hoisted an arm around Friendly Boulder and lifted himself to sitting, then gathered his legs underneath him - only to fall back on his ass again when his right leg crumbled under his weight. In the unobstructed moonlight it was easy to see why: a bone was sticking out through the skin above his knee, right at the same place it’d broken last year. He poked the edges of the wound and a small amount of blood oozed sluggishly from the hole. It looked fake, like something out of a really bad horror movie except it was his goddamn leg. 

Dean touched where the bone had snapped in half, then wiggled the shard itself, morbidly fascinated. He could feel the two ends grating together, likely slicing up his leg muscles as they went. He was pretty sure it was supposed to hurt worse than it did. Or at all. “Uh, Cas? Little help here?" 

Cas clapped his hands together, though the dirt was pretty much ingrained at this point. He turned and stuttered to a stop when he got a good look at Dean’s leg. Or what was sticking out of it. He glanced up at Dean and the two shared a look of mutual _what the fuck?_ Dean took it as a bad sign when the eternal soldier of heaven was surprised about an injury.

Cas placed two fingers against Dean’s forehead – warm against the drying sweat, the skin rougher than Dean would have thought. He braced himself for the rush of _healing_ that strummed through his body following that kind of touch –

Nothing.

Cas sat with his fingers on Dean, staring unfocused at the damage to his thigh. When nothing happened after a minute a little tremble of fear made its way up through the bleary numbness of Dean’s brain. “Uh. Cas?”

Cas grunted, settling himself more firmly in the rocks with his palm flat over the bone. “Close your eyes.”

Dean did in a hurry, waiting for a bright burst of angel-light that never came. He shifted; there was a rock poking his left buttcheek and Cas’ hand on his thigh was getting really awkward. He opened one eye, cautiously.

Cas was still sitting there, frowning momentously. 

Perfect. Seemed like Doctor Angel had left the building. “Let me guess. Magic finger broken? You out of quarters?”

Cas’ eyebrows were in danger of permanently fusing into a frown if he kept it up much longer. “I was afraid of this. We’ll just have to do it the traditional way.”

"The what way?“

Cas shoved the heel of his hand hard against the bone fragment, then held both hands tight around it. Dean yelled in surprise more than for any other reason, though he could clearly feel the bones grinding together and the splinters cutting into the meat of his leg. There still wasn’t any pain. 

Dean was getting ridiculously close to freaking out. “The _hell_ , Cas? Why couldn’t I feel that? I’m not paralyzed am I? I can still wiggle my toes, right? They’re wiggling?”

“Yes, you’re a very good wiggler. Apply as much pressure as you can.” He grabbed Dean’s hand in his own and held it tightly to the gash. Then, using the strength that always managed to surprise Dean, picked him up and carried him the last few feet to the bottom of the incline. Dean would protest being carried like a wilting bride over the threshold but those rocks had been getting all kinds of irritating and at least this way he could see something other than the stars. (There was a long scratch on the side of Cas’ cheek trailing down from his hairline to the side of his lip. Dean hoped Jimmy didn’t mind a little cosmetic damage on the exterior.)

Cas propped him up against a large errant boulder – far too roughly for a guy with a broken leg, though Dean couldn’t exactly feel it. He sighed again. “When you stabbed Roman we were pulled into the field of his destruction – it jettisoned us to purgatory with him. But since we hadn’t been separated from our physical bodies first it brought those, too. We’re physical in a realm that isn’t, strictly speaking. I assume your soul is incapable of interpreting the input from your body and has become confused.” 

“Well, you know what happens when you assume.”

Cas paused where he’d been looking around the detritus at the bottom of the hill. “You make an educated guess based on previous events.”

Dean rolled his eyes and peeked at his leg. There wasn’t any new blood other than what came out during the initial injury but he could still see straight through to parts he shouldn’t be able to. He thumped his head back against the rock. “Uh huh. And what previous events helped you come up with this hypothesis?”

“My own.” Cas picked up a stick, bent it, and tossed it down again. “This is similar to when an angel takes a vessel. Your soul is suspended much as my grace is.”

Dean blinked. That was new. After a whole year of avoiding becoming Michael’s vessel and he became his _own_? Look up irony in the dictionary…

Cas came back with a few sturdier looking twigs, piling them next to Dean on the ground. Dean recognized the makings of a splint, though he had no idea how Cas knew how to make one. And he’d just gotten out of a cast a few months ago. Cas bent down to peel a few stubborn leaves away… and Dean got a good look at his cheek. The scratch on his face was gone. His palms were smooth and unmarked as they brushed along the wood.

“Hey. _Hey_ , you just healed yourself. How come your finger works for you but not for me?”

“What? Oh.” Cas shook his head and started measuring the sticks to Dean’s leg. “When my vessel’s damaged my grace remains intact inside it, so the body resets itself to when I first entered it. Very little of myself is devoted to maintenance so I don’t really notice it anymore.”

“So you’re in suspended animation?”

“It’s more like a feedback loop; once all the wires are connected properly it sustains itself. To heal you I have to push that loop outside of my vessel, grab the damage that shouldn’t be there, and return.” Cas looked around for something to bind the twigs together, feeling through his coat pockets for the first time Dean could remember seeing. He tossed some lint and a cough drop over his shoulder and dug through his pants pockets. Was he looking for something to bind the splint together? “Help me take this off.” 

He tugged at the trench’s belt, planning to use it in the splint. It hurt Dean somewhere deep down to see such disregard for the coat, though he couldn’t think why. It hurt much worse than his leg did, anyway. He grabbed Cas’ wrist before he could pull it all the way free. “Cas, wait. If I’ve been reduced to a fucking _vessel_ then I might as well get something out of it. Teach me to do the healing thing your grace does.”

“What?” Cas looked confused again, surprised and frowning. (That expression was becoming all too familiar lately.)

“If my body’s wrapped around my soul like a Twinkie around its creamy filling then shouldn’t I be able to bring it back to normal? You said it was the same thing as your grace, right?”

“Dean… It’s not really something that can be taught. Bartering your soul’s energies is a delicate matter. Angels learn to manipulate our grace over time. It’s not natural for a human to do that.”

“Oh, come on. When have we ever been cared about what’s natural? I can’t just sit around like this. Help me fix it.”

Cas let his head fall back to his shoulders, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. (Dean wandered if the sky was brilliant for him, too.) He ran his hands along Dean’s leg, fingers skirting the edges of the sticks. “It will likely heal on its own, given time.”

“Dude, we don’t _have_ time. Any second now something’s gonna jump out of those rocks and try to eat us and you know it. I’ve gotta be in top form or I’m nothing but meat to these things.” Those weeks laid up in the cabin had sucked; the phrase ‘dead weight’ held a lot more gravitas now.

Cas looked back down and Dean stared him in the eye, trying to convince him as he had so many other times. Eventually Cas reluctantly nodded. “You must do exactly as I say. This is not something to be undertaken lightly, and I don’t know if it will work the same for you as it does for me.” 

He removed the half-made splint and scooted closer, holding Dean’s gaze. When he spoke it was soothing, damn near hypnotic, his rough voice like an a.m. radio jockey over the Impala’s speakers. “You are not your body, Dean. You are in it, but not of it. You are separate and completely in control. It is just a body. You are the strength inside your body. Concentrate on that strength, on the power simmering inside. Can you feel it, Dean?”

Dean could, barely, a flicker of candlelight in the gloom of his heart.

“Harness the strength of your being until it is compact and tightly wound. Hold it firmly. Now picture in your mind your body. It is hollow and void but yours all the same. Feel all the pieces of it around you. There is a wrongness to it, but you can bring it back to wholeness. Do you know what is wrong, Dean?”

Yes. Bones broken and ground, muscles sprained, skin torn, blood lost. How to fix it, Cas?

“Focus on the wrongness and the memory of how it should be. Concentrate. You are the power living inside your bones and you push it through them, releasing it through the body. You are stronger than your body. Make the wrongness go away, Dean. Make it never have existed. Push it back to whole.”

A tingle and a _push_ and something gave way inside himself. He lingered in the sensation under his skin, blood vessels rushing by. He could hear them, own them, _use_ them, but he couldn’t feel what it meant to have them anymore. They were distant and dull compared to everything else.

“When you’ve achieved rightness allow your body and strength to blend back together. Let it fold into itself as it was in the beginning. Feel your energy bleed into the farthest part of yourself. Become one with your vessel again.”

He didn’t want to. Please, Cas, don’t make him.

“Now look through your eyes and tell me what you see.”

No. Let him stay lost for a little longer.

“ _Dean_. Look through your eyes. Tell me what you see.”

He blinked, eyelids heavy and sandy over the dryness of his corneas. He must’ve kept them open longer than he should have. Cas was hovering over him, face inches from his own. Dean jerked back as far as he could, banging his head into the rock behind him. “Personal space, man, come on.”

Cas’ shoulders slumped and he smiled, inexplicably, that dorky grin full of gums and awkward happiness. He sat back on his heels a comfortable distance away. “How do you feel?”

Different. But better. Like his entire body was wearing ear muffs and he was listening to it through layers of cotton. There was still a bloody hole in his jeans but when he poked his finger into it there wasn’t anything but solid skin underneath. The bone and muscle of his thigh were smooth and continuous; tightening and moving as it should. He could even wiggle his toes.

“Jesus, Cas. That was…” It had been strange as hell, and unexpectedly… exciting. Kinda sexy. The reminder of Cas’ gravelly voice sinking into him had his heart pounding. (If he concentrated hard enough he could feel every palpitation of muscle inside it, every pulse in his veins.)

“That was how angels are taught to heal themselves, Dean. To my knowledge no human’s ever tried it before.”

And maybe his heart was pounding for some other reason because it was getting hard to breathe, lungs stuttering in his ribcage. The light grew fainter until it was just a dim halo around the shape of Cas’ head.

He put a warm hand – rougher than it should have been – on Dean’s forehead. “Rest, Dean. I’ll keep watch.”

Dean decided that was probably a good idea; when he started to think of Cas as sexy it was time to check out for awhile.

+++

The moon was still high in the sky when he opened his eyes again, though he’d surely slept for more than a few hours. Christ, was there no end to this night?

Cas waited patiently for Dean to rise grumbling to consciousness then helped him to his feet. His leg was still a little wobbly but held his weight all the same. After a couple steps it was like the fall down the hill had never happened.

Now that he was upright he could see the surrounding woods didn’t look any more promising than the one at the top of the hill. Tall, thin trees with peeling bark and bushy tops were doing their best to block out the little light seeping through. Random bushes and scrub pushed up through the dead leaves. A breeze, miraculous, carried the teasing hint of water. It was the first time he’d smelled anything other than his own stale breath in longer than he liked to imagine. 

And through the center of it, skirting around a suspiciously bare patch of soil and stretching off into the shadowy distance, was the clear division in flora that marked the edge of the trail he and Cas had been following. It curled around the rocks and back along the landslide. 

_Son of a bitch_ , Dean thought. They’d just taken the world’s worst shortcut.

Cas made the decision to follow it again by taking off without consulting Dean, aiming away from the rock face and along the path through the trees. Dean thought they may have been heading north, but it was hard to tell with the sky in static. (The stars were still brilliant overhead, almost as bright as the moon.) It _felt_ like north, anyway, if a direction could have a feel.

The breeze grew stronger as they moved. Despite how grateful Dean was for even a tiny respite from the monotony of _forest_ , when they came to the break in the tree line and found the hidden lake he couldn’t help but worry. It stretched for what seemed like miles all around, an inland sea shrouded in mist and strange lights blinking in the distance. The surface wasn’t still, though Dean somehow thought it should be. What it _should be_ was stagnant, a mirror surface of green and brown and full of soft dead things. What it _should be_ was a swamp.

But what it _looked like_ was beautiful, a sparkling swell of sweetness in the middle of hell. It _looked like_ summers swimming with Sammy in cutoff trunks, like tire swings, like pulling over on the highway and fishing off a pier. It _looked like_ the sort of place you’d roll your pants up and go wading if you dared disturb the universe. It _looked like_ the first cool drink after a hard day. 

And because it looked that way, Dean knew not to trust it.

He grabbed hold of Castiel’s sleeve and didn’t let go until the lake was out of sight. Just in case.

+++

They walked for less than half an hour before the first couple vampires jumped them and Dean could have wept for the relief of fighting something familiar. Heads removed from bodies easily under his machete, just like always. Cas was a blaze of flashing silver in his periphery – his angel sword was more suited to stabbing than slicing, but its sheer _holiness_ seemed to work in his favor and incapacitate the vmps long enough for Dean to sweep in for the kill.

Before the blood had even cooled on their blades another group of vampires attacked, the leader getting closer to Dean’s jugular than he appreciated. He and Cas left the area quickly, only to be set upon by a werewolf not too long after. And a random wendigo after that. 

It went that way – walk, fight, regroup, repeat – for what was surely hours. 

Then the attacks stopped just as suddenly as they’d began, the monsters disappearing into the shadows of the trees. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck rose at their absence and he adjusted his grip on the machete. What could make the scary things afraid?

He’d just stepped cautiously under the spreading branches of a huge oak tree when he felt a tickle on his face, a _something’s touching me and I can’t see it what if it’s a bug eugh_ itch across his cheek. He jerked back, startled, waving his arm frantically in front of him. (Yes, _startled_ , Dean Winchester didn’t get freaked out by phantom tingling even if the sensation made his skin crawl as though little fingers were creeping up his back.) His arm got stuck fast just above his head and bent at the elbow; no matter how hard he tugged he couldn’t get it to come free. He couldn’t see anything, just the glimmer of moonlight off of something silky caught in the branches – and then he couldn’t move his head either. He flailed again, lashing out his other arm, hoping the machete would catch whatever it was that had him…

And then his entire body was caught, suspended, feet kicking in midair like Pinocchio waiting for someone to cut his strings. (The last time he’d felt like that there’d been hooks in his skin and he’d been all alone. At least the thrashing and cursing coming from behind him meant Cas was there, too.) The sticky fingers were crawling all over his skin and Dean was this close to a goddamn panic attack. It felt like they’d walked right into a giant -

A giant spider’s web. _Oh, hell no._

“Cas! Cas, stop moving!”

“What?”

“I said _stop_! You’ll only make it worse!” Dean swiveled his eyes, trying to take in as much of the tree around him as he could without actually moving his head. Up close he could see the moonlight had hidden the swaths of silk in the thick leaves of the oak. The whole tree was covered in it, a thick curvy mass that swallowed the massive branches. As he watched a strand came loose and tickled the soft skin at the tip of his nose. Ridiculously, he fought the urge to sneeze.

The webbing around his elbow pulled tight, stretching his arm further behind his head. The hell was Cas _doing_ back there? “Would you quit fidgeting! I said you’re gonna make it worse.”

Cas huffed and gave up the ghost of resistance – or at least Dean assumed he did, given that the whole web bounced a little with additional weight. “My wrist is stuck. My sword is useless! I can’t believe I let this happen.” 

“Yeah well, neither can I. The fuck didn’t you see this coming, man? I thought you had crazy night vision or something.”

Cas honest to god growled at him. “Why would I have crazy night vision? Angel’s are beings of celestial intent and made out of wavelengths of _light_. The dark doesn’t _exist_ around me.” 

Point to Cas for that one, he supposed. “You mean to tell me you’ve been leading me around without seeing where you’re going this whole time?”

“I’ve been following the road Dean, what more do you want?”

Dean sighed and hung in the web, trying to think through their options. He could still feel the machete firm in his grip but his arm was so hopelessly engulfed that there was zero chance of movement there. His left leg was still mostly free but after a few experimental kicks all he got was winded. He supposed there was some kind of irony at work: an angel of the lord and one of the best hunters that’s ever been end up getting stuck in a spider web in monster hell. 

“So what do we do, Cas? Sit here and wait for Shelob to show up? ‘Cause I am so not down with that.”

Cas wiggled a little, the strands of web hanging around Dean trembling. (Weren’t spiders supposed to sense when their web gets messed up or something?) His voice was quietly optimistic, though he hadn’t gotten much better at being reassuring. “Maybe this is an old weave and the creature’s unaware of our presence.”

Something thumped in the distance, quietly, repetitively. All the blood rushed out of Dean’s head straight to his thumping heart. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. We’ve gotta get out of here _now_.”

Cas started moving urgently again, the web bouncing once more. For his part Dean just hung there, listening to the noise draw closer. Whatever was causing it was heavy, lumbering; a thump thump _draaag_. Thump thump _draaag_. The breeze came back, gently lifting the loose strands. Dean sneezed, a little bit of saliva and mucus getting caught in the web. _Gross._

The air smelled different, like the unidentifiable _water_ smell but stronger. It reminded him of the ocean – fish and salt, sea spray, and birds calling home. It grew stronger and the creature came lumbering into Dean’s view (thump thump _draaag_ ) all slick rubbery skin and large luminous eyes. And very much _not_ a spider. Its front limbs were pulling its body behind it; Dean thought it’d be better suited for the lake they’d passed and not the dry mulch of forest floor. 

“Dean? What’s going on? I can’t see anything.”

It stayed low to the ground, lurching under the dangling strands of the web and passed Dean’s feet to sniff at Cas, snort rudely, and circle back around to Dean. It smelled his dangling boot, wide nostrils flaring, and blinked its doe eyes up into the trees. It mewled a little, plaintively, and curled in on itself, head tucking under the wide back legs. After a moment the muscles in its back twitched, swelled, and peeled away. Dean thought of the mess skinwalkers left behind and gagged a little.

But this creature’s skin shed like a coat, dropping to the ground in one long piece. A young naked woman rose out of the loose folds, her new pale body gleaming in the darkness. Her soulful eyes danced with mischief and her hair was long and brown, intricately braided like something out of an old gold-leafed illustration. 

She moved her arms and legs, getting used to the weight and fluidity of them, then looked up at Dean again. Her pink lips smiled and she laughed a little, the sound rising out of her like bubbles from the deep. She darted forward, quick as a snake, and pressed her mouth to his.

Dean flinched but sank into the kiss after a second anyway, enjoying the soft lips and very very wet tongue. He supposed he’d normally find the girl attractive if she were a little older and he hadn’t watched her change from a weird seal-beast. He didn’t even mind the faint taste of the sea on her mouth, all salt water and dead fish. Dimly he felt the web pull around him; Cas was pitching a fit, swinging around and yelling in Enochian.

Dean kissed the girl until he felt a sharp sting in his lower jaw and the trickle of something warm on his chin. She pulled back, smiling, the tips of pointy canines denting the skin of her lower lip. Dean tensed when she swooped in again, licked the blood of his face, and inched her hand into his jacket. It skimmed along his side up over the tender skin of his armpit, back up along the muscle of his shoulder and along his arm. Her delicate fingers snuck right through the web and around the handle of the machete; it slid easily out of his grip into hers.

The girl smiled again, a shark-toothed grin, and cut Dean free with a single swipe from his own machete. He dropped to the ground like a rock, limbs tingling as the blood flow returned in a rush. He flipped over onto his back (wiping webbing off his face and snorting it out of his nose) and suddenly the girl was looming over him, knees digging into his hips to keep him still. Her eyes were dark and huge, too large for her delicate face. 

His protests died before he could even make them. 

She put a finger to her mouth and pursed her lips, shushing him without making a sound. Her long fingers threaded through the hair at his temples then turned his head until he was facing the tree trunk on the right. If Dean concentrated hard enough he could make out the rough path he and Cas had been following. The girl’s grip loosened to a caress, light on the stubble on his throat. 

Her smile was smaller, sadder, and she nodded at his questioning look. She shoved the machete up to the hilt into the ground next to his head and walked away without a backward glance, her bare feet whispering on the mossy forest floor. Dean stayed where she’d put him and let her go, listening to the sound of her moving through the woods. Within minutes her light footsteps turned heavy and plodding, the thump thump _draaag_ echoing through the trees.

He wondered exactly what type of monster just saved his life. And why.

Cas was cursing at him now, strong and bitter, foul enough to make a Marine wince. Looked like his vocabulary had improved since the days of _assbutt_ and awkward porn. Dean could see him, trussed up in the web like a spitting mad angelic burrito.

Dean took a moment to appreciate the thought and then cut him down.

+++

Dean and Cas walked onward, traveling the path and crossing the length of purgatory. Most of the time the trail took them steadily uphill, the incline subtle enough not to strain their legs. Dean’s eyes refused to adjust any further to the darkness and the woods continued without an end in sight. The sun never rose and the moon never fell, its weak light shifting through the branches overhead and creating patterns on the road ahead of them.

They walked and walked and walked some more, dealing with any monsters they found (or that found them). During the long strange night Dean never felt the urge to eat or sleep or take a piss and the flasks of holy water and whiskey stayed nearly untouched. He was learning to ignore the odd mental urge for something that didn’t translate to his body. 

Sometimes he wondered if this was what life on earth had been like for Cas, separate and still in the middle of all that movement.

Dean’s body may not have needed to rest but his mind did. Or should he call it his soul, instead of his mind? What was he now but a collection of thoughts and memories haunting an empty collection of neurons and tissue? Was that a soul?

Regardless, when the need to _stop_ overpowered the need to _move_ Dean and Cas would find an alcove or hollow near the path and settle down for awhile. Dean didn’t get tired exactly; he just felt so damn _weary_. The rest almost always did him good even if he couldn’t actually sleep.

They stopped not too long after the Web Incident under a sad and wilted tree heavy with brown leaves. Dean was (understandably) leery of any purgatory plants after their near-miss and checked the branches thoroughly before settling down. Neither one suggested a fire; they attracted enough attention on their own. He took his boots off, stretching his toes and cleaning the tread free of caked-on mud.

Dean had just braced himself for another long haul when the short hairs on the back of his neck tickled against his collar.

“Cas.”

“I see them, Dean.”

He slowly raised his eyes from his boot to where Cas sat opposite him in the tiny hollow. There were red eyes peering at him through the trees, hovering in the shadows above Cas’ shoulder. They were large, eerie, and Dean remembered how quickly the bodies attached to them could move.

Cas was staring over Dean’s shoulder. His eyes flickered back and forth, counting their enemies. Another pair of lights blinked into existence behind him.

They were surrounded.

The monsters stood their ground, silent, watching. Waiting for some signal to attack, Dean was sure. He reached for the machete he’d laid in the grass at his side. “Do we fight?”

“No.” Cas was so still staring back at the beasts; he barely seemed to be breathing. “They outnumber us and we don’t know how powerful they are. Or even _what_ they are. We should play by their rules until we understand what their motivations are.”

“I’m thinking their motives are to _eat_ us, Cas. I don’t like being hunted.” Dean stared down the glowing eyes, willing them to pounce and reveal themselves; anything to get rid of the tension stealing his breath. He remembered a television show he’d seen once where animals saw eye contact as a challenge for dominance.

Well, he wasn’t looking away. And neither was Cas.

A few minutes passed, the only sounds the whisper of the dying leaves above them and his own harsh breathing. Then a shift in the darkness; the eyes behind Cas moved to the right, leaving a clear space between them in the direction of the path. Dean tilted his body to follow them, turning his back to the road…

Cas leaned across the few feet of space between them and took hold of Dean’s sleeve, tugging gently. Dean blinked, glanced around to find that the eyes had faded into the underbrush and they had a clear shot to escape the way they’d been going.

Dean didn’t put the machete down again for a long time after that.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing that made purgatory feel so wrong – and Dean had given this some thought – was that it wasn’t a real forest. Obviously, with the whole “monster heaven” thing and all, but purgatory put on airs to make itself _feel_ real. Dean had spent a lot of time in the woods over the years and he knew what to expect. Purgatory… just wasn’t it. There were no bug choirs or twittering birds, no tiny animals flittering about their lives in the canopy. He hadn’t given much thought to how much space those little things took up in the world until they weren’t there. An entire concert of movement and sound was absent. It was like when some big predator crept through the underbrush and everything hushed, trembling in fear.

Every moment was like that, all the time. Anxious. Expectant. Terrified. 

It never stopped. And why would it? The entire dimension held only hunters, devouring each other for eternity. Just the monsters and the moon.

Well. The monsters, the moon, and the angel. And Dean Winchester, who was growing more and more frustrated with the angel every step they took together.

Cas had been humming for _hours_. Of all the fucking songs for Cas to have learned it had to be that one, didn’t it? Fucking CCR. Dean was throwing that cassette out the window when he got back to the Impala, no fucking around this time. _If_ he got back.

Cas paused for a second, the quiet rush of the wind in the trees echoing bereft around them, before taking a breath and starting again. Tenth verse, same as the first. 

“ _Cas!_ Would you shut the fuck up, please? Don’t you know the first rule of hunting? You’re making so much noise they’re gonna know we’re coming a mile away.”

“We’re not hunting anything, Dean. We’re walking. And I don’t sense any creatures nearby.”

They hiked onward in silence for awhile, Cas manfully keeping the tune to himself. Dean knew he was still humming it in his head; he bobbed his neck every couple seconds in rhythm. _Better run through the jungle and don’t look back to see._

“Damn it, now that song’s stuck in _my_ head. And I’m bored. We haven’t killed anything for a good hour or two. The hell are we supposed to _do_ in purgatory?” 

“We could always… _talk_.” Cas said the word _talk_ like other people would _herpes_ or _anal leakage_.

Talking had never gone over well between them before. Sarcasm always snuck in there, or god forbid actual _emotions_ were brought up. And then there was the cultural divide when Cas was too literal or Dean made a reference Cas didn’t understand. (Dean didn’t realize how often he relied on pop culture in conversations until he talked to someone who _just didn’t get it_.) And now they were trapped in purgatory with nothing new to add to a discussion. 

“I honestly can’t think of anything to say. What do you want to talk about?”

“As you’ve pointed out before, Dean, my social skills leave something to be desired.”

Cas stepped carefully around a bush that made a grab at his coat. Dean kicked it on the way past and it squealed, pulling its vines away from the road’s edge. “Well, what are you thinking about?” 

Cas took a deep breath then let it out in a kind of weary sigh. “I’m thinking about the time I heard that song on the radio in the Impala and you sang along to the first few bars before going pale and turning it off. I’m thinking about how the noise made by the chemical reactions in bioluminescent jellyfish echoes the chorus notes, and how it would irritate you if you knew. I’m remembering how my brother Balthazar’s edges used to glow like the _mnemiopsis leidyi_ , but only in the spring, and how in the winter he crackled instead. I’m thinking that I haven’t felt any other angels on this plane so my fallen brothers must not be here, and if they’re not here then they can’t be _anywhere_ and there must be nothing for angels after death except to stop and be nothing. And that I’ve already died twice – maybe three times – and it’s not fair that I’m still here and they’re not. And I’m thinking about how I have all these _feelings_ in the first place and how a proper angel wouldn’t let them affect him this way. I should want to repent and be forgiven but I’m just sad and guilty and _crazy_ instead.” He paused, took a shaky breath in, and looked down at his feet. “And now I’m thinking I’ve said too much and that I’ve got a rock in my shoe.”

He sat down, heavily, his coat billowing around him in the dirt. He pulled his gangly legs in and tugged off his left shoe then sat there, staring at it. His shoulders heaved once, twice, and then settled into the grave curve Dean had come to recognize as purely Cas.

His bare foot looked vulnerable and pale in the half-light of the moon. 

Dean felt strangely tall standing there by himself. He took a deep breath of the not-right forest air and looked around, keenly aware that Cas’ back was slumping further inward the longer he sat, body curling around the hospital-issue slipper. 

Dean rubbed his hands on his jeans, looked around a final time, and flopped down into the dirt next to Cas, crossing his legs. The top of their arms brushed, their jackets making a soft shushing sound. "Remind me to ask for the abridged version next time you tell me what you’re thinking."

“I’m a creature of cosmic intent, Dean. My brain operates on a different frequency than yours. It’s my nature to multitask.”

Dean nodded, letting the joke fall flat. They sat there quietly for awhile. Something moved in the bushes next to them but they both ignored it.

Cas turned his shoe in his hands, fingers tracing the stiff stitches holding the fabric together. The sole was irredeemably soiled. “My brothers burned in a blaze of glory when I killed them, their bodies cleaving to the ground forever. Why did this have to happen, Dean? I never wanted to kill them, just stop them from destroying the world. At first they forced my hand by refusing to back down and that was all right, that’s war, I’d made my peace with that a long time ago. But then it got too much and I needed more strength and the leviathans were always talking… Why would God allow this to happen and leave me untouched at the end of it all?”

Dean looked at him - an angel with a rock in his slipper and tears in his eyes sitting in the dust of a nonphysical plane - and sighed.

“When Sam died-“ He laughed, though there wasn’t any humor in it. “When Sam _dies_ , it’s always my fault. He dies because I can’t get to him in time, or because I’m not smart enough to think of a better way around him hurting himself, or because some fuckwit tore through him to get to me. I gotta carry that around. That’s my load to carry.” He shook his head, gestured carelessly with a wrist. “For awhile that and all the other shit I got mixed up in was too much, too heavy. Too big. But now… Now, man, I don’t know. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason because it turns out most of the reasons were your dick brothers fucking around with stuff to protect their vessel’s bloodlines.” 

Cas was finally looking at something other than his footwear, leaning back a little way to better watch Dean’s face. Dean took a breath and kept going. “I think God lets these things happen because he’s not in charge any more than you were when you were high on leviathan goo. He may’ve set this shit in motion but now he’s sitting back with a cold one waiting to see how it’ll turn out, just like we are. Otherwise what’s the point of free will? Why bother with any of it if you already know how it’s going to end?”

Cas squinted at the trees in the distance and the maybe-something-rustling-in-the-bushes. At the rough spots on his toes rubbed raw and pink by walking in the crappy shoes. At where his knee touched Dean’s, briefly. “Because it’s beautiful. And because it _does_ work in mysterious ways, no matter what you say.”

Dean smiled and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He bumped their shoulders together – like hitting a brick wall wrapped in thick cotton. “See? You just proved my point.” 

The bushes growled at them. Dean rolled his eyes then leaned up on a hip, took out his gun, and shot straight between the branches, the bright flash of gunpowder leaving spots on his eyes. The report was deafening and echoed strangely – the woods were truly silent for the first time since they’d arrived. 

“Good riddance,” he muttered, putting the gun back in its holster.

Cas snorted a laugh. (It was an undignified sound and all the more appealing for its rarity.) “Now every creature in purgatory’s going to know we’re here.” 

“We’re having a _moment_ here, Cas. I’m not gonna let some bullshit Monster of the Week interrupt that. So I pulled a _Raiders_.”

Cas shook his head, exasperated but still smirking, and shoved his slipper back into place.

Dean rubbed his hands together, watching the calluses catch. “Seriously, though. Guilt sucks, man. I know it’s new for you but take it from someone who knows: if you wanna push past it you’ve gotta live with it. You’ve gotta drag it behind you until it either becomes part of you or pieces start falling off. It’s natural to feel like shit for awhile, you’re only –“ He sucked in a breath, literally swallowing the words before they could get past his lips. Cas was _not_ human. It was hard to remember that sometimes. “If you want to repent or make up for it then go ahead. It makes you feel better and helps the people around you, too. It’s not gonna be the same and sometimes it’s worse, but sometimes it’s better. So don’t let your mistakes drag you down any further than they’ve already kicked you, ‘cause then they’ve won.” 

Cas shook his head again, slower, the smile denting in one side and turning melancholy. “You’re a hypocrite, Dean Winchester. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yep.” Dean gathered his legs underneath him, only half-surprised they hadn’t fallen asleep from sitting for so long. He wiped the dirt off his pants and held out a hand for Cas. “You gotta keep walking, Cas. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

Cas sat for another minute, legs akimbo, then grabbed Dean’s hand and let himself be pulled onto his feet.

+++

Dean found the world below purgatory by accident.

He’d read everything Bobby had in his library about purgatory during the Lovecraft case and everything else after Cas had started his scheming. Dean had even struggled through Dante, though he already knew from personal experience the writer hadn’t gone anywhere _near_ accurate during his tour in _The Inferno_. Needless to say, he took _Purgatorio_ with a grain of salt. 

Before the alphas Dean thought purgatory was where the poor unbaptised babies went when they died, a repository for all the unclaimed souls that didn’t quite fit into one realm or the other. And maybe they _were_ there somewhere, hanging out beyond the tree line of this eternal forest full of twilight and shadows. But Dean felt like the only living thing for miles, and from the way the monsters followed he and Castiel’s scent he didn’t think he was wrong. 

It had never occurred to him to look below his feet for answers. Though maybe it should have, considering the plants in purgatory must’ve had the most fucked up root system imaginable.

They’d been walking for a long ass time, flitting between trees and jumping at every distant noise. The road led them to a huge stump, cut off ten feet up with scorch marks scarring the bark – it looked like lightning but Dean had yet to see a single cloud hovering in the sky, let alone the makings of a proper storm. The roots spread on either side of the path, still clinging firmly to the ground despite the lack of any new growth on the plant.

Cas stood looking at the base of the dead tree, then shrugged and picked his way around the edge of it. The roots were as big around as his thigh.

Dean was a little more cautious of anything he couldn’t see the end of; the Web Incident had _really_ left an impression and Dean liked to say he learned from his mistakes. He picked his way along the roots carefully, kicking aside the piles of leaves before setting his foot down. 

He’d almost made to the other side when the dirt crumbled under his boot unexpectedly, right at the junction of root and tree. He fell, as fast as he had down the rocky mountain, only saving himself from dropping all the way through by grabbing hold of the root above him.

“Dean!” Cas rushed toward him, kicking up the moist and decaying leaves as he went. Dean’s entire weight hung from his arms and his legs kicked out into open space. The hole was at least deep enough for him to stand in. Maybe deeper. _Don’t look down_ , he told himself. _Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down._

Dean looked down. And had to close his eyes at the disorienting twirl of color and sound creeping toward his swinging feet.

There was a whole world glimpsed in that one quick glance, topsy-turvy and checkerboard swirled. He thought he saw water, and what looked like people or animals floating in it, though it was too far away to be sure.

The damp bark was coming apart under his fingers. He hauled himself up with a desperate lunge, glancing down again when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A flying creature – some kind of fat eyeless bird with teeth like a lamprey gleaming in the folds of its bulgy beak – paused in its ungainly flight over the water and turned his way. It screeched and the hairs on Dean’s neck stood up so hard they practically jumped from his body.

Cas skid into the pulp on the other side of the root from Dean’s desperate grip and threw himself headfirst down the hole, circling Dean’s waist with his arms and pulling back with all his strength. Dean’s legs kicked away just as crazy mister dodo snapped its beak through the hole after them, snapping and thrusting its teeth into the dirt around him.

Cas gave another mighty yank and shoved his hand into the hole, pushing the bird thing back. Dean turned in time to see a blaze of white light pour from Cas’ hand - it was the brightest thing he’d seen in ages and in the shadowy black Dean found himself momentarily blinded. 

Cas (at least he hoped it was Cas) grabbed his arm and took off, stumbling through the night away from the tree and the secret it hid under its roots. A grating, chuffing sound – like a lunatic’s laughter scratching over metal boards – chased the brilliant afterimage imbedded in his retinas as they fled through the wilderness. 

They ran, Dean blind as a bat and feeling for the slope of the path under his feet, trusting Cas to lead the way. Eventually they fell to a stop, panting, curled against the grit of stone and hopefully hidden from anything else following down the road. For once Dean felt drained, tired from the sprint, coughing and gasping for breath. He clung to the rock, waiting for his vision to return to normal.

He blinked hard a few times, the fuzzy blob in front of him clearing into Cas’ frowning face. He was staring at his hands, clenching them into fists over and over again. “Thanks for the save back there, man. Couldn’t have picked a better time to get your mojo working again.”

“I shouldn’t have been able to do that." 

“Do what?” Dean shifted so that less of his weight leaned against the rock, tilting his shoulders until he could see the forest around them. The rock was just one of many littering this patch of purgatory, most of the trees falling behind and to the sides of where they rested. 

“My grace is restricted on this plane. It will regenerate eventually but it’s hard to access anything and keep a foothold in my vessel. Unless I want to abandon it to the jackals it’s dangerous for me to expand beyond myself.” Cas looked up, eyes large in the gloom. “It’s why I couldn’t use my wings properly. Why we had to walk.”

So that’s why Cas had been hanging around with Dean instead of bamfing all over. He honestly hadn’t given it much thought beyond a tiny spark of gratitude to Cas for keeping him company. “What do you mean dangerous? Is your head gonna explode like that guy’s in _Trancers_?”

“Every time we use our grace we run the risk of burning up, consuming our energy and leaving behind scorched earth and the remnants of our consciousness. We learn our limits very quickly. Though some of us have a habit of testing them more often than is healthy.”

Dean remembered a tired voice on the phone, calling bedridden from a hospital and complaining about being itchy. What would happen to him if he overextended himself _here_?

“Cas, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. That’s what worries me.” He shook his head, lowering his gaze back down to his hands. His fingers curled to rest against his dirty palms. “Using that much grace should have emptied me, or at least tired me to the point of exhaustion. But I feel fine. I don’t understand why.”

The thought of Cas draining himself like that, giving up such a pivotal part for himself because of Dean _again_ curled something sour in his stomach. “You shouldn’t do that, Cas. We get into the thick of it I want you to promise me you won’t hurt yourself to save me. Even if it turns out okay in the end, you sacrificing your grace is not an acceptable option.”

Cas sat on the rock next to Dean, tucking his coat primly around his legs. “I thought you said nobody cared if I was broken?”

Dean looked away, unable to bear the hurt he knew would be in Cas’ eyes. He rubbed at the dirt imbedded into his palm instead. “I think we’ve proven by now I’m full of shit. You deserve to be saved, Cas.”

Cas sighed, deeply. “So do you, Dean. Even if you are needlessly cruel and irritating beyond all belief.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You’re also a dick.”

“Okay now, watch the language. When’d you upgrade to dicks from assbutt, anyway?”

Cas chuckled – another first for purgatory – and Dean couldn’t help but smile, too. He felt lighter inside, just a little. Enough that he could walk again, anyway. He rose to his feet and wiped the dirt off the seat his pants. “How about a compromise then? You agree not to do anything stupid on my behalf and I agree not to be such a dick? Sound fair?”

Cas snorted and joined Dean, leading the way around the rocks. “It does sound fair. But I think you’ll have a hard time pulling it off.”

+++

The next time red eyes appeared between the trees as they traveled down the road, Dean didn’t hide his eyes. He stared right back, the creature’s fiery gaze leaving afterimages on his retinas when he blinked. _Let them look_ , he thought. Let them think what they will, if they thought at all. Let the monsters see he wasn’t afraid of them anymore. 


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the beasts lapping up on purgatory's shore there was bound to be something Dean killed blocking his path sooner or later. He just didn't expect to recognize it when it came. Or that it'd be some _one_ instead of some _thing_.

Okay, so technically Sam had killed Gordon – rather spectacularly, too – but the thought remained the same.

He was waiting dead center in the path and Dean recognized him right away. Gordon looked exactly the same as he had the last time Dean saw him: his dark skin was shiny with blood and his eyes still creeped Dean out. They were bloodshot, darker than any other vamp he’d tangled with before or since, and just a little mad. _Like a doll’s eyes._ Just looking at him made the phantom tingle of fangs shimmy up his neck and out of his gums.

Dean played for nonchalance, stopping a good dozen feet before the vampire. Better to begin on friendly terms. “Hey, Gordon. You find your sister?” Friendly-ish terms, anyway.

Gordon returned the smile, porcupine quill teeth pricking his lower lip. “Found you. That’s good enough, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, purgatory’s a big place. I’d imagine it’d be hard to track down one lone vampire. Especially when it was you who killed her in the first place, huh?” Dean held eye contact with Gordon, feeling Cas shift a little to the left behind him. “Speaking of, how’d you find us?”

“This close to the tower it was easy. I just looked for the loudest shitstorm I could find and here you were, making trouble as usual. Tell your shiny friend to keep his hands where I can see ‘em.”

Cas stopped where he was slowly rounding on Gordon’s periphery, rubbing his thumbs on his knuckles.

Gordon smiled again, though the humor never reached those eerie eyes. “Surprised to find you in purgatory, Dean. Would’ve thought you’d be heading somewhere further south when you finally bought it. Knowing what I do about the company you keep.”

“Tried that. Didn’t like the health plan.”

Gordon looked Cas up and down, the smile sliding off his face. “Yeah. I’d heard that.”

“And how’d you hear about that, exactly? You’ve been dead for years.” What was is about his life that people found so fascinating? And why the hell were monsters chatting about it in another plane of existence?

Gordon shrugged. “What can I say, man? We're dead, there's not much else to do but gossip and eat each other.”

Dean blinked, beset upon by a horrible mental image. “You mean that literally, right? And not in the biblical sense? ‘Cause ew.”

“Dinner conversation, you know how it is.” Gordon ignored the innuendo, circling around behind them. Dean raised his machete and kept the pace, making sure he stayed out of arm’s reach. Across from him Cas did the same. 

“Imagine my surprise to hear on the breeze that the great hunter Dean Winchester was trapped among the ravenous beasts, picking us off one at a time as he did in life. Of course I had to see for myself if the rumors were true.” Gordon spread his hands wide, gesturing at the elms around them. It was warm in this part of purgatory, and the leaves had little brown splotches on them. “That’s like sending a cop to life in prison; there’s bound to be all kinds of nasty surprises waiting for him.”

“And you’re one of them, huh?”

“Ain’t I just.” All hint of anything human sank off of Gordon’s face, a snarl rising out of his throat. He was harder to understand through the fangs growing in his mouth. “First I hear that your _brother_ – the goddamn _demon messiah_ – earns a Get Out of Jail Free card and then you show up here with an actual _angel_ on your shoulder, making it all better? What’s fair about that? What makes you so damn special?”

“Fair? You wanna talk about fair, Gordon?” Dean knew he was shouting but kept it up anyway. “That was always your problem, man. You were always so full of your own suffering you didn’t think anyone else deserved to be fixed! And guess what? The first thing you did when you got turned was kill people! Fantastic, the sociopath has an excuse!”

“I’m a monster, Dean! It’s in our nature to kill!”

“I know!” Dean remembered how thrilling it had been to sneak into Lisa’s house under cover of night, the speed and strength at his command. How tempting their blood had smelled. Like a cheeseburger with a side of pie, like life itself. Just the memory made his mouth water and his gorge rise. “I know it is, Gordon. But it didn’t have to be. Did you even think about asking for help? About living with it?”

Gordon snorted. “I was dead the second that vamp sank his fangs into me. The only decent thing left for me to do was-“

“Kill Sam, yeah, I remember. But you weren’t dead, Gordon. You weren’t damned. There was a cure, man.”

Quiet reigned for a moment, Gordon’s panting breath loud in the relative silence. He bared his teeth, face twitching with the sorrow Dean remembered from before Gordon was turned. “You’re lying.”

Dean shook his head, a lump in his throat. “We found it a couple years after you got bit. An old family recipe. You just can’t drink anyone’s blood for it to work. It’s hard as hell to resist until you get all the ingredients, but you could have done it, man. You didn’t need to turn into _this_.”

“An old family recipe? _A family recipe?_ ” Gordon’s rage echoed off the trees, his bloody dark eyes reflecting the light. Dean saw a tear drop down his cheek before the track was hidden in the folds of a snarl. “ _This_ is all I have left, Dean! _This_ is all I’ve ever had!”

Gordon charged him, preternaturally fast, legs burning up the distance. Dean raised his machete, ready to defend himself –

When Gordon stopped, neck spit on an angel blade like a moth on a pin. Cas adjusted his grip and twisted, rending vertebrae and sending Gordon’s head toppling to the ground. 

That diversion worked a lot better than some of the others Dean’d tried over the years. He supposed having your shoulder angel there to save your ass made all the difference.

Dean breathed out, the adrenaline quickly ebbing through his body. For a second he wanted to hold onto it, wanted to feel the energy and excitement course through his veins. He stood over Gordon’s dismembered head and let it go. Gordon’s mouth was moving, though the eyes were unfocused. Dean wondered what he was trying to say.

“What happens when a monster gets killed in monster heaven?”

Cas wandered over next to Dean, wiping his blade clean on a handkerchief before wishing the sword away to wherever it went when he wasn’t using it. The handkerchief went back into his pants pocket – good to know the foraging earlier paid off for something. “That’s a valid philosophical question. His energies are still intact, despite his current condition; it’d take something much more powerful than us to permanently destroy him.” Gordon’s right eyelid fluttered and Cas tilted his head to get a better view. “I’m guessing he’ll regenerate eventually, once he pulls himself together.” 

Dean couldn’t tell if Cas was joking or not. It seemed to be a common problem.

He punted the head as far away from the twitching body as he could, a perfect spiral any kicker would be proud of. It bounced off a tree and rolled under a thorny bush. Dean walked away, whistling a jaunty tune.

+++

The victory, like all things, didn’t last long. Seeing Gordon again brought up a lot of questions Dean’d put off thinking about the answers to, including who else was likely to reside on this half of the world. Dean had never thought about what happened to the monsters he killed. Or where the hell beasts went when they were burned away.

He made it all of fifty steps away from where they’d left Gordon before he had to voice his anxiety. “Cas, if he found us then who the hell else is gonna show up? Are there demons in purgatory?” A name occurred to him, winding its way around his spine like a skeletal hand. “Are we gonna see Alastair?”

Cas shook his head, answering in as sure a tone as Dean had ever heard from him. “Demons are humans filtered through Hell, trespassing on earth where they shouldn’t be. Destroy them and they’re purified in a conflagration that burns into the earth and sends their essence and energy back into the formless void where it can be recycled and put to better use. The trash Alastair was purged from this level or any other. I made sure of it myself after Sam killed him.”

Dean breathed in deeply, willing his mind to settle. His heartbeat continued the same steady course, despite the slowly fading panic. He thought for a moment, searching for a distraction. “Is that what happens to angels, too? They burn up and leave their ashes behind?”

Cas looked down where his slippers scuffed silently through the dirt. He was quiet, far less confident than before. “I don’t know. Before Lucifer’s rebellion there was no need for an angel afterlife. I don’t think God planned ahead for something like that. Or at least he never felt the need to tell us if he did.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and lengthening his stride. “While mankind evolved to inherit the earth we remained separate, intended to maintain and defend the individual heavens, not make our own. Becoming an individual takes time and energy most angels don’t feel the need to strive for or even realize is an option. Lucifer was the first in that regard, as well. He and I have much in common, it burdens me to say.”

It bothered Dean to think that Cas was anything like the evil son of a bitch that had made his family’s life hell for so long. (Pun not intended.) There was a lot more wrong with Lucifer than mere defiance, that was for sure.

They walked a little further, Dean pondering the other idea that tickled and fermented in his brain. “Do… Could there be Amazons here, do you think?”

Cas shrugged his shoulders, rocking his head back and forth in thought. “I suppose. Amazons aren’t human, not in the strictest sense. They wouldn’t be welcome in the holy kingdom and probably ejected from hell. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Dean thought about a girl with his mother’s cheekbones and a stranger’s hair, sadness and murder on her face. Emma, her name had been. His little girl-who-wasn’t-a-girl. 

He tried not to think about her and even succeeded most of the time. He pretended her existence and death didn't bother him, that Sam was right and she needed to be put down. But he’d be lying if he denied the thought of having a child out there in the world didn't make him hopeful, even just a little. Terrified him, too. He supposed it was a universal fear, one held by a lot of parents faced with teenagers. 

Seriously, though, who was he kidding? He couldn’t even think the word ‘parent’ in his head without scorn. What kind of upbringing would that girl have had, anyway?

What would he say if Emma was the next one to come around the bend of the road, popping up from behind a tree? Sorry my crappy genes made you question your existence? Sorry I let your uncle shoot you? Thanks for not stabbing me as soon as I opened the door? 

He wasn’t surprised that whole fiasco went down the way it did. Of course any child of his would turn out to be a monster, of one kind or another. It was good Ben got out when he did, really; Dean wasn’t meant for that kind of family. 

Monsters rarely were.

+++

Life continued that way for awhile, creatures familiar and otherwise showing up to knock them around and grind their bones to make their bread, _et cetera, et cetera_. Cas upheld his end of the bargain superbly and Dean got more practice at the healing thing.

He got an unfortunate slice to the foot from a creepy vampire in steampunk gear he’d knocked to the ground – Corsets? Really? – and it tore through the tongue of his boot and shredded some of the laces. It flopped around with every step, the loose bit of leather creeping under his heel, a little furl poking at his arch. He ignored it until he absolutely couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“I’m sorry, Cas, I have got to fix this.” He flopped down in the middle of the road – widened here to an actual _road_ , the size of a small dirt lane – and tore his boot off, not bothering with the laces. He yanked the tongue off completely, throwing the useless thing over his shoulder. He wiggled his toes, letting the hint of breeze dry his damp sock. “Oh, thank god. I felt like the princess and the pea.”

Cas didn’t say anything, just sighed in the way Dean was coming to translate as _I don’t understand that reference and I don’t appreciate you making it in front of me._ Any minute now he was going to call Dean an insensitive dick again.

“Seriously? You’ve been around forever and you’ve never heard of _The Princess and the Pea_?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I was a little busy most of the time, Dean. Like when I rescued you from hell? And before that there were the countless demonic battles. Then the thousands of years my garrison guarded the boundaries of heaven and earth from invading threats so expertly that your race had no idea of their existence. _Mea culpa_ for not knowing every iota of your pop culture.”

“I get it, I get it. Geeze.” He ran his hand along the edge of the cut, shrugged, and tugged it back over his foot again. The lace had been severed a couple places, but Dean figured he could just tie it back together and make some kind of half-assed cross garter thing like the gladiators wore. It might even turn out looking badass.

He didn’t know why, but he started talking as he matched the ends of the lace together. “It’s a fairy tale. You know, once upon a time– “

“I don’t think you should be summoning fairies in purgatory. There’s likely a sizable population nearby.”

Dean flinched and looked behind him, in case the tiny flying chick with perky nipples was loitering just over his shoulder. He scowled and looked up to where Cas was standing above him. He thought Cas might’ve been making fun of him, but he was just standing there, serious as ever, watching the woods around them and playing guard while Dean fiddled with his shoe. 

He sighed and shook his head. “It’s just a story, Cas. Didn’t Jimmy ever read them to Claire at bedtime?” That was what good Christian families did, right? Read to their kids?

Cas blinked and looked away, expression suggesting he was looking for an excuse not to talk about his vessel’s daughter. “I… don’t have access to Jimmy Novak’s memories. I never did.”

“Huh. So it’s not like when a demon possesses someone then? Full access, non-disclosure?”

“No.”

He threaded the shoestring through the holes that were left and looped the rest around his ankle, securing the couple inches of loose leather to his leg. Not exactly Russell Crowe worthy, but not half bad.

Cas waited quietly while Dean did a little jog to make sure the lace would hold – he didn’t even have the decency to get dizzy from watching Dean circle around him over and over again – then led the way up the path. The incline was a little more pronounced in this particular part of purgatory, the trees growing closer together and thick with needles. It meant very little light actually made it through the canopy but Dean didn’t have as hard a time seeing as he used to. 

The path was reduced to a mere impression of a game trail and they ducked under and around the lower branches, getting sticky sap all over their hair and shoulders. Dean really would need a shower after this little jaunt; his sense of smell may have been playing tricks on him, deadening some scents and sharpening others, but he was pretty sure sap, sweat, dirt, and old blood did not a good combination make.

The condensed branches muffled every sound – the absence of noise seemed twice as prominent here. He almost missed Cas’ humming. 

The silence was apparently getting to Cas, too. He spoke quietly, maybe with respect for the hush that’d fallen over the forest… or maybe because his mind lingered on his vessel’s family. “I would like to hear the story of the princess and the pea. Did she not want to eat it?”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. “Nah, some prince was super picky about the girl he was going to marry – she had to be a _real_ princess, none of that imitation crap, and none of the ones he knew were cutting it. Then this random chick shows up in the middle of a storm all soaked and asking for shelter. She swears she’s a princess but the prince and his mom aren’t sure. They have her sleep on a huge pile of mattresses, convinced that only the real deal would be delicate enough to feel a pea the queen hides inside them. The chick wakes up all bruised and complains the next morning that she was kept awake by something hurting her back all night. Cue marriage, happy ending, all that jazz.”

Cas frowned. “And this is a story you tell to children?”

“Yeah, usually. Why?”

“The moral is clearly _not to judge by appearances_ but the narrative itself implies that the prince could only be happy with someone possessing perfect qualities as laid down by his societal law, so manner and appearance are conversely shown as necessary. If a woman didn’t possess these qualities then she’s not fit to marry, making it antifeminist and damaging to the underdeveloped psyches of children. From a strictly literary standpoint the title of a ‘real princess’ depends heavily on her sensitivity to the slightest detail – a satire about the ruling class, depicting them as oversensitive and easily hurt emotionally. Also, the pea is clearly a metaphor for rough sex.”

Dean was pretty sure he’d have done a perfect spit take if he actually needed to drink anything. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Black and blue after being in bed all night? It’s a reference to what the prince and princess were doing sexually. He was looking for someone who matched his kinks, I would think.” Dean stared at the back of Cas’ head, legs moving forward automatically. Cas had just said the word _kinks_. Out loud. 

Dean walked headfirst into a swaying branch. He spit out a few needles, coughed, and remembered it would probably be a good idea to close his mouth when following an angel through the woods.

Cas was staring back at him, frowning a little but mostly amused. “You look like that tasted horrible. Am I that off base with my analysis?”

“No, no, just… I honestly never thought of it like that before.” He wiped the back of his hand over his chin and stepped pointedly _around_ the branch. If that was just what Cas heard in _The Princess and the Pea_ then what did the other fairy tales have written under the surface? Were they all like that? “I shudder to think how you’d interpret _Little Red Riding Hood_.”

“Now _that_ one I have heard of. It’s about pedophilia and carnal sexuality.”

Dean blinked. Shame on the Grimm Brothers for that one, then. Damn.

“I always thought kids stories were nice things about going on a journey and coming out better at the end. You steal the witch’s treasure or you kiss the pretty girl. Adventure and happy endings, you know? Where anything can happen and the obstacles in your path are there for a reason.” He smiled and tilted his head to acknowledge his stupidity. “I guess I’m off base with _my_ analysis. Sam was always the reader of the family.”

Dean navigated carefully around a particularly sticky looking tree limb and bumped into Cas, who’d stopped to let him catch up. He looked a little goofy, mouth quirked into a smile and eyes gone soft. “I think I like your interpretation better.”

Dean shrugged and held the branch back so Cas could pass through. “Confession? The pea story wasn’t my favorite growing up, so I may have left parts out.”

“I see. And what was your favorite fairy tale?”

“Anything with a hunter or a woodsman. Seemed appropriate at the time, though I suppose it’s reached epic proportions of irony at this point.”

+++

It seemed that once stories were brought up it was easier to just keep telling them, in lieu of actual conversation. It wasn’t a perfect way to burn through Cas’ social awkwardness – there were places in purgatory where making noise wasn’t a good idea and they had to save their breath for saving their lives. But after the danger had passed and the tension in the air from the red eyes gazing through the trees faded to the whisper of their steps through the grass, the silence loomed mighty and Dean hated it. ( _His kingdom for his baby and her box of cassettes._ )

So they told tales to pass the time.

Cas knew more stories than Dean would have imagined, though he suspected most of them were from the Bible. He told Dean about the first stirrings of mankind in the universe, and the legend of Ehud the assassin and Eglon the obese. He actually startled a laugh out of Dean with the story of Baalam and his donkey - it was rusty and sharp but a laugh all the same. 

They were all good and exciting stories but Dean had a hard time staying focused until the end most of the time. Cas was terrible at pacing; being ageless and naturally blunt meant he tended to ignore little details and go straight to the heart of things. Which left Dean to do most of the talking. 

He ran out of fairy tales fairly quickly - he hadn’t been lying about not being a huge fan as a kid - so he started on the stories he _did_ know.

“One night this rich family goes to the theater and is held at gunpoint in an alley. The robber shoots the parents in front of their son, leaving him an orphan to be raised by their trusted servant Alfred. The kid grows up super smart and seeks vengeance for his family. He makes a suit that looks like a bat to scare the bad guys and to disguise his identity.”

“I can see why this intrigued you as a child.”

“Yeah, I guess. Plus, Bruce Wayne is a badass.”

“Bruce Wayne is the orphan?” 

Dean nodded. “He knows all kinds of martial arts and develops this cool belt with pockets for _everything_ , just in case. We’re talking shark repellent and kryptonite ring level of awesome here.”

Cas looked down, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve heard of kryptonite before. It’s the weapon used to subdue Superman.”

“Yeah.” Dean walked quietly for awhile, remembering the conversation that exposed Cas’ plans and drove them apart last year. “Batman and Superman were partners for awhile. Supes is too strong to be stopped by anything but his own moral code so Batman carries the ring in case he has to take down his friend for the good of the world.”

“I don’t think I like this story anymore. Batman’s life isn’t a very happy one.”

“I guess not. But that’s life for you. He wouldn’t be a superhero if he didn’t make the hard calls.” This particular problem had gone on long enough; Dean took a deep breath and resolved to talk about this once and for all. He tugged on Cas’ sleeve so he had to stop and look him in the eye. “Cas. What you were doing, you thought it was for the best. It wasn’t your fault you got swept up in your choices. I just wish I could have helped you make the right ones. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me. And I’m sorry for the ring of fire and everything else, too. It wasn’t right that we betrayed you like that.”

Cas watched Dean closely, his face impassive. It gave Dean the courage to keep talking. “You’re not Superman. I mean you are but… I’m not Batman. I’m not strong like that. I could never hurt family, even for something that important.”

The truth was that no matter how many ninja moves Dean pulled or how well he planned ahead, Sam would always be Batman. He was more compassionate and so, so much smarter than Dean. And he was willing to go the extra mile when he had to. (He’d killed Emma, after all, and Gordon. Hell, Dean still had nightmares of the blade poking through Cas’ dress shirt, how his own heart had stopped in his chest like he’d been the one being stabbed.)

It occurred to him that this was the first time he apologized to Cas. For anything. How had they been friends for so long without him doing that before now? For that matter, when was the last time he apologized to _anyone_?

“I think I already knew most of that, but thank you for saying so anyway, Dean. It’s nice to hear.” Cas tilted his head, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he looked into the distance. “I assume Bruce Wayne avenges his family. What happens next?”

It was a subject change Dean was grateful for. The way his stomach was tying itself into knots because of all this sharing was gonna give him ulcers. “That depends on who’s telling the story. He becomes a great detective and swears to protect Gotham City, so that no one suffers the way he did as a kid. Batman’s a legend - the Dark Knight, a caped crusader. He even joins the Justice League, working with Superman and Wonder Woman and that douche Aquaman and other people with powers even though he’s only just a human. He saves the world a couple times, too.” Then there was the hotness that was Selena Kyle in her catsuit, though he didn’t think Cas would appreciate that part.

Cas looked back at Dean, eyes squinty but bright, a touch of happiness sneaking through his lashes. He smiled, showing off pink gums. “I think you _are_ Batman, Dean. The parts I want to hear about, anyway.”

He punched Dean’s shoulder – ever so lightly, only rocking him back onto his heels a little – and turned to follow the trail around the next bend.


	4. Chapter 4

Nighttime was terrible, horrible, terrifying. But then the dawn came, pale and pink, with little fanfare or warning. It simply _was_ : a watery glow rising over the dark horizon. There was a clamor of noise – howls and cries from the woods around them from monsters they couldn’t even see – then the pregnant silence resumed.

It made sense, Dean supposed, squinting into the weak sun, day blind and disoriented like a mole dragged out of the earth. Everything needed a chance to stop for awhile, even the nocturnal sons of bitches that lived in purgatory. Daytime was for rest, a long time coming for those who survived the endless, endless night. It was a time when weary limbs sought shelter and watchful eyes could finally close. When mates curled together to groom and cuddle close.

It wasn’t a bright morning, the rising day overcast and grey, but Dean had never been so happy to see the sun anyway. 

He should have been wary. The creatures strong enough to brave the daylight were much worse than the ones he’d fought before. 

At least Dean could see them coming this time, in all their creepy glory.

+++

Not too long after Dean had exhausted his knowledge of DC continuity they reached the crest of a tall hill and beheld the land of purgatory spread out below them. The trees went on for miles, further than Dean could see, the bristly pointed tops grasping toward the pale blue sky. The road cut straight through, a scar on the earth.

Cas pointed even though it would have been impossible for Dean to miss the spire looming in the distance, peeking out of the trees like a tower in a long forgotten fairy tale. It reminded him of a candy-colored cathedral he’d seen on TV once. Its curved roof came to a sharp point; Dean could see the hint of faded red on the tiles covering it and hoped for ancient paint. 

(Though where would anyone get paint _here_? Or the ability to shape and cut wood, for that matter? Dean’s brain helpfully conjured images of countless bodies heaved upon the pinnacle, blood staining the ancient bones of some Russian monster’s enemies. Dean’s brain was an unfortunate place to be sometimes.)

In all their journeying they’d never seen construction before, or evidence that any had existed. This was completely new… and the path was leading them straight toward it.

Dean tightened his grip on the machete and followed Cas on his careful trek down the hill.

+++

The road grew wider the further down they went. By the time the ground was level under their feet it was the size of a two-lane highway, smoothed bare of any growing thing. The conifers whispering in the breeze around them were full of strange sounds – like the passage of creatures Dean couldn’t quite find. They traveled along the edge of it, just past the tree line, hugging the trail but not daring to walk so brazenly in the open. 

The dirt was worn thin in some places and Dean could see stones under his boots, rough cut and placed with precision by human hands. Or hands with _thumbs_ , anyway. He crept closer to Cas’ shoulder, leaning in to whisper. “Dude, who builds in purgatory? And why would anyone want to?”

Cas shrugged, scanning the opposite side of the road for impending danger. “Monsters who remember they used to be men, I guess. Eternity is a long time to remain unchanged, Dean. People will do almost anything to keep themselves occupied.”

Said the eternal ball of celestial intent. “Yeah, _people_. But these aren’t people, Cas.”

“Some of them used to be. Not every monster is born, Dean. Some have to be created.”

Like Bloody Mary coming when you call her name a shadow moved between the trees across from them. It was humanoid in shape, snarling, and had something long and sharp in its hand. At first Dean thought it was a short sword of some kind, but the monster passed through a patch of sunlight and the spike didn’t gleam like any metal Dean had ever seen.

He tugged on Cas’ arm, oddly excited. “Starships! Jefferson Starships, right over there!”

Cas shushed him, holding out his arm in a _simmer down_ motion. “I see it, Dean, you’re very clever, now be still before it hears you!” 

They squatted behind a clump of bushes, watching the creature pace along the far side of the road. It was joined by another Starship, then another. They were talking, gesturing at the woods around them, and Dean had a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut.

He inched along the bush until he was leaning over Cas’ back from behind, a hand on his far shoulder for balance. He let his cheek rest on the swell of Cas’ collar so he could breathe the words right into his ear. “We need to get the hell out of here, Cas. They’re looking for something and it’s probably us.”

Cas tilted his head, stubble rasping against the material of his coat. “We have to follow the path, Dean. If it leads us through this territory then that’s where we go.”

“Damn it, Cas. Why the hell is it so important we follow this road? It’s a damn game trail through purgatory, and _we’re_ the game. It’s going to get us killed.”

“I don’t know if we _can_ die here, Dean.”

Dean frowned, epically, digging his chin into Cas’ shoulder until he sighed. 

“I don’t know why we have to follow it. I just know it leads somewhere important.”

“Where’s that, McDonald’s? Disney Land?” He breathed through his frustration, trying to maintain the low volume. A thought occurred to him, one he hadn’t allowed himself to consider since the early days of their time in purgatory. “Cas. Is this road a way out?”

The flap of leather wings on the air tore through the silence, closer to Dean than he liked. He fell back from Cas, catching his balance in time to be pushed to the ground by a dragon shaped like a man. He knew it was a dragon because the talons biting their way into his neck were growing hotter by the second, the skin where they touched starting to smoke.

Cas jumped on the dragon, knocking him off of Dean and stabbing his blade a couple times into the monster’s side. Two more dragons appeared out of nowhere, pulling him off of their wounded companion and holding Cas tightly by the shoulders, his arms held out like a scarecrow on a pole. A fourth dragon held her hand close to the side of his face, the skin glowing furnace hot, a warning. Cas struggled anyway.

Dean got yanked up by a hand in his hair, bent backward and held tight. Something sharp dug into burns on his neck – he thought about screaming, or even passing out, just for a second. When he blinked the tears from his eyes he saw Cas staring back at him from where he was restrained. Despite the fury in his eyes he hung there, put upon and deceptively docile. Ah. They must have employed the _move and we’ll cut his throat_ trick. An oldie but goodie.

He rolled his eyes to see behind him as best he could. The Starships had made their way across the road since the dragon attack. The whole thing seemed far too convenient to be anything but a velociraptor level ambush. _Clever girl_ , Dean thought, and tried to suppress the cough he knew would be a bad idea.

The dragon with her hand up to Cas looked at them both, squinting at Cas’ face and sniffing the blood pooling in Dean’s clavicle. (Burns were his least favorite way to be injured, but the Jefferson’s spike was quickly climbing the charts.) She snorted and nodded her head. “The vampire was right; it’s them. Take them to the tower. She’ll want to see them herself.”

+++

Dean and Cas had no choice but to let themselves be led; the Starship behind Dean kept his spike pushed into his neck while they walked. Dean was worried about tripping over a rock and accidentally impaling himself or something. Cas could have probably overpowered the dragons (the dragon that’d pounced on Dean rejoined the group, none the worse for wear) but didn’t even try. Instead he allowed himself to be frogmarched down the road and toward the tower.

It rose out of a clearing in the trees, butted up to the edge of the road itself. When they drew closer Dean could see it actually was made of wood, with intricate square carvings in columns down the side. There was only one door and no windows.

And it was surrounded by monsters. 

Dean hadn’t seen such a wide variety of monsters in one place his entire hunting career. It was as if someone waved a wand over his dad’s journal and the pages came to life. Vampires roamed in gangs, werewolves lurked in the trees, tattooed djinns loitered in the doorway. And there were the regular looking folks, people that Dean had to assume were skinwalkers or shapeshifters copying some poor dead bastard.

They watched the entourage enter the clearing without attacking, though they certainly weren’t happy with the situation. They growled, snarled, nipped at Dean’s heals – or just stood there looking pissed as hell. Dean had no doubt that one step out of line and they were only so much meat. He was far more concerned with the mysterious “she” everyone kept talking about. 

A chill ran over Dean’s spine when they passed through the doorway of the tower, a breeze coming from nowhere. Strangely, he was reminded of that scene in _Last Crusade_. There didn’t appear to be any booby traps or hidden razors in the walls, though he kept a sharp eye out. 

The bulbous top of the tower was one large room filled with so many tapestries and flowing fabrics that Dean couldn’t tell where the edges were. It was lit by fire, the torches reflecting thousands of crystals strung along the draperies, dangling from the ceiling, secreted away in corners. The effect was quite beautiful, like being inside a golden kaleidoscope… but the ambiance was the furthest thing from Dean’s mind.

Mary Winchester sat languidly on a crystalline throne raised in the center of the room. She wore a cheap yellow diner uniform instead of the pale white nightgown he’d come to think of as _hers_ and the grin on her face was pure brazen malevolence.

On either side of Dean and Cas the monsters sank to the floor, reverently.

“You _bitch_ ,” Dean snarled. He had to force his jaws apart to make even that much audible through how hard he was clenching his teeth.

Eve lifted a finger, _naughty naughty boy_. “Now, Dean. Is that any way to speak to your mother?”

Cas threw out his hand, fingers spread wide, a snarl of his own marring his face. There was the hint of something brilliant, a sputter and a spark from his palm, then nothing. Dean could see the muscles cording on his wrist from the tension.

“Feeling a little flaccid, angel?” The Mother giggled, then covered her mouth with one of Mary’s hands – feminine in the blushing-and-fainting-couches way Dean detested. She smirked afterward, settling herself more comfortably on her throne. “What made you think I’d let you fire one off in my territory, hmm? You’re as helpless as a sacrificial lamb of god.”

“Leave Cas out of this. And _you_ are _not_ my mother.” The anger vibrated through his veins, violence creeping across his knuckles and crackling through the arcing strength in his arms. 

Eve sneered, plucking at the collar of her uniform. “I’m not any happier about it than you are, Dean. I usually prefer my vessels to be a little more virginal and a lot less matronly, but _que sera_. What you’re wearing when you die reflects down here. Serves me right for playing mind games before I was _murdered_.” She glared pointedly at Dean. 

Seeing the expression on his mother’s face made it a little easier to remember that this was a gnarly-ass purgatory beast and not someone he actually cared about. He schooled his expression to innocence; it was a look he’d never done well. The sarcasm flowed like wine.

Dean felt Cas’ hand settle on his shoulder, just behind where his mark used to be. It was heavy, weighing him down, cautioning him to behave. At his touch the jeweled walls flickered and Dean was somewhere else entirely even though his feet stayed planted on the ground. Then Cas stepped in front of him and his vision settled back into the crystal throne room once more. He shook his head, trying to restore some order in there. He almost missed what Cas was saying.

“We wish you no harm, Mother-of-All. We merely seek to pass through your domain. Pull your silk and let us pass.” His voice was formal in a way it hadn’t been since he was commanding armies and protecting seals in the early days of their time together.

Eve wasn’t moved by the show of respect in the slightest. “There’s no _merely passing_ anywhere in this realm. We have to fight for everything we have, so why shouldn’t you?” She kept ranting, going on about how her life sucked since Dean booted her back into the realm of her poor dead babies. Dean checked out after the first few lines, trusting Cas to alert him if anything interesting popped up. 

Instead he focused on that odd moment of disconnect he’d had when Cas touched him. What was that? It had felt a little like he was watching a 3D movie without the glasses on, layers of bright images over top of something else. If he just concentrated hard enough maybe he could see it properly…

He closed his eyes and felt around for the simmering space inside where his soul was bound and hidden between his ribs. It’d gotten easier to channel his intentions through the glow of _self_ at his core – he felt it there all the time now, quietly warming him. Like Iron Man’s arc reactor, only not as cool. He’d certainly gotten practice healing himself of minor injuries along the way, so this shouldn’t be that difficult. He pulled the _strength_ inside him into focus, sudden and sharp, and opened his eyes.

_(a round, bulbous body suspended fat and tired in the curved hollow of a web, carapace gleaming black as night and red as new blood, poison dripping from swollen fangs. drops of rain and dew caught in the shadowy strands, hardened and lovely in the midst of the circular chamber. there were eggs hidden there, somewhere within, nurtured and cradled from view. as were pieces of her last meal)_

Dean blinked hard and his mother’s face bled back into place over the fidgeting mandibles. The world of vessels and skewed perception was easier to handle than _that_. He thought about webs in the wilderness and swallowed down the gorge rising in his throat. _Eww, they’d been_ in _one of those. And it came out of her._ He spoke without really meaning to. “Oh, gross. I knew you had to be a spider.” 

Eve stopped midsentence. She raised an eyebrow and gave Dean a sour look, the _duh_ implied. Cas had the same look on his face. The kneeling monsters weren’t allowed an opinion, unimpressed or not.

“What? I did. It makes sense.” He threw a hand to his neck, covering the place there’d be a gaping wound if not for the angel at his side. “Ugh! You bit me, you bitch. I’m not gonna get some kind of weird bug disease, am I? Like Jeff Goldblum only with spiders? Is my ear gonna fall off?”

Eve groaned and rolled her eyes ( _all eight of them_ , Jesus Christ) the expression looking strange on Mary’s face. “Every time I forget it’s the other Winchester who’s the brains of the operation you manage to remind me. Good job.”

Dean sneered, completely over this sad Shelob wannabe. “I was smart enough to kick your ass though, wasn’t I?”

“That you were. And see where it got you now, you miserable little ant.” She reclined on her throne again, then flicked a finger their way. “That reminds me.”

All four dragons descended on Cas, pushing him to the ground and leaning to keep him there. The Starships sprung up around Dean, gripping him tightly and delivering a wicked blow to the side, knocking the wind out of him. Vaguely he felt his sleeve being rolled up and the tug of something sharp over the skin of his forearm. 

Cas yelled his name, his voice echoing off of the floor to bounce around the ceiling.

The Starship that cut him approached the dais of Mother’s throne, offering the blood on his spike to her like an offering to something holy. She sniffed it, delicately, tongue darting out to taste. Eve pushed the Starship away and it fell to its knees, bowing. She strained on her throne, eminently pleased with herself.

“The phoenix ash has passed through your blood. You’re all out of Hail Mary’s now, Dean.” She smirked, wiggling the shoulders of her vessel a little, the _Mary_ nametag reflecting the firelight. And that’s when Dean knew Eve was full of shit; she’d worn his mother’s face _after_ they’d arrived in the diner, and had reverted back to her original vessel upon her death. She was trying to screw with his head. Which meant she still had something to lose. Or at least she thought she did.

He looked over to where Cas was stuck on the floor, meeting his eyes. Cas shook his head a little, flexing his fingers against the stone. _Not yet_. Wait for the opportune moment.

Dean brought up as much sarcastic confidence as he could while having a bruised rib and being strung up between two of Eve’s latest pets. “And how _does_ a phoenix defeat a giant ugly spider lady? Stomp on you with its feet? Swat you with a rolled up newspaper? Sic Dumbledore on your ass?” 

Eve was stewing on her throne, chin in hand, frowning hard. She spoke more to herself than any of them. “It wasn’t the ashes that pained me, as much as the effort it took to get them. Damn bird. Immortality leaves such a bad taste on the tongue.” She refocused on the two visitors to her realm, flicking both hands toward the wall. The Starships and dragons fell back, letting Dean and Cas regain their feet. There was a small trickle of blood on Cas’ chin from where he’d bitten his lip. “No matter. Tell me, boys: how do you like my tower?”

Dean straightened the lines of his jacket so it fitted over his shoulders properly again. “I think it looks like a great big pile of shit. You should eat your interior decorator.”

Either Eve was seriously passive-aggressive or Dean was getting good at hitting her buttons. She straightened, spitting angry again. “You try maintaining territory when you’ve been shoved face first into the mud again. I had to start over from scratch, building homes where I could find them until I was strong enough to reclaim what was mine.” She settled once more, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She caressed the arms of her throne. ( _a thin foreleg, unfolding, twanging the strands of her careful creation_ ) “Still, it’s served its purpose. If you build it, they will come.”

Cas tilted his head, frowning. 

Eve rolled her eyes. “It’s from _Field of Dreams_ , you culture-shocked moron. Dean, your angel education is seriously lacking. I was on earth for three months and even I know more pop culture than he does.”

“Yeah, we’ll get right on that, Charlotte. Just after we take you to the state fair and eat Wilbur for breakfast.” The dragon behind them punched Dean in the back of the head, knocking him off his feet toward the base of Eve’s throne. She smirked and kicked him back onto his knees – he flailed a moment on the edge of the stone until he felt Cas’ steadying hand on his back. Dean tried to regain his dignity and his feet but Cas held him down without any effort at all. He shook his head, glancing up at the Mother. _Not yet._

Well. It might have cracked his skull but at least the insult got them within striking distance. Dean wasn’t so sure that was a good thing with how dizzy he felt all of a sudden.

“Location is everything, Castiel. I built my lair on the Traveler’s Way and you walked right into it. You pull more flies with honey, angel.” She turned to the dragon that had hit Dean; it was daring to stand in her presence, head unbowed. Her words were venomous, a queen finding her roses painted red. “Thank you, my child. I believe I can take it from here. Go to your room.”

The dragon blinked and backed away at the dismissal, wiping its eyes. Could dragons cry? Or did the tears just evaporate?

Dean heard the echo of footsteps on the spiral staircase behind them and knew the others had left along with their winged brethren. They were alone.

Eve tilted her head and looked at the two creatures kneeling at the base of her throne, one heavenly and the other decidedly not. “My children are sometimes jealous of their mother’s love. Would you like to know a secret?” She leaned closer to them, whispering, her voice wavering between her flat teeth. “I hate it here. I hate _them_. Can you imagine, being surrounded and worshipped by your _failures_? Every night, for all eternity. Unable to grow. Unable to change. When that’s what you want so very badly. I have so many ideas, so many improvements to make, and no supplies to do any of it.”

She ran her hand through Dean’s short hair, combing out the clumps of dirt absently. He only flinched a little at her touch.

“I watched humans grow, you know. You were so perfectly flawed. I was there first and it didn’t matter; they still inherited the earth with their magnitude and cunning. So I took them and I changed them so their flaws were on the outside, perfect for the world to see. I gave my children the power to overcome your silly world, to eat the ones God gave it to instead of me. To remake it in my image. And they failed me. Because of humans like you.”

Eve pulled her fingers tight, tilting Dean’s head back until his skull met his shoulders, baring his neck and making him look her in the eye. “You killed my children, Dean. You killed _me_. So now you’re going to help me fix what you broke.”

She leaned down impossibly low from her throne, Mary’s limbs growing long and pointed. Her mouth gaped, wide and terrifying, lowering to Dean’s in a horrifying kiss. His chest burned, arms tingling, and a drop of something oozing landed on his tongue. Numbness settled like panic down his spine.

She breathed in. Light flickered between their lips and she licked at it, a cat with cream. ( _spider with a fly_ )

He was tugged away from her, hard, body snapping back limp as a rag doll. Cas curled an arm around his chest and raised the other hand to the side of her face, brilliant brightness blooming between his fingers.

The Mother screamed. And everything was consumed in fire.

+++

The flare faded slowly from his vision, the afterimages only leaving his eyes when a shot of pain echoed dully up from where his knees hit the ground. The rest of him followed, aching terribly. Pain throbbed through his muscles, nerves firing randomly, the too sensitive feeling of a flu making his skin scream and his equilibrium tremble.

He hadn’t felt anything like this in ages. Not since before the Roman Candle. He’d be almost grateful for the blaze of sensation if it didn’t hurt like a motherfucker.

Dean blinked his eyes, slowly, carefully, practically hearing the hinges creak. He’d fallen on a loamy rise of land; his cheek was pillowed on the softest moss he’d ever encountered. He wanted to rub his face in it and might still, if he could scrounge up the energy for it. A tan blur was pacing in front of him, once-white slippers grey against the brilliant green of the ground.

Sound rushed back into the world when Dean became aware of Cas moving around. Somewhere nearby a stream was burbling merrily. And Cas was muttering like a crazy person, talking to himself as he wrung his hands.

“—shouldn’t have been able to do this. The blast should have used up my grace, even killed me. I had to do something; she was going to steal Dean’s… But her null field was too powerful. How was I strong enough—”

Dean must’ve moved or made a noise because Cas’ attention was on him like a firefly in the dark. Lightning fast he was at Dean’s side, fingers reaching to smooth the wrinkle growing between his eyebrows. The touch of his skin on Dean’s burned, a drawing vacuum of misery peeling up from his guts and broiling down from his brain. He tried to yell but was only capable of a dry husky moan. 

Cas’ hand jerked back in time with his inhaled breath, his body curling inward again. He stared at his hand, at the bruises on his knuckles fading away even as Dean’s blurry eyes noticed them for the first time. Not that Dean was too concerned about the state of Cas’ hands – he was too busy fighting for air. He coughed and tilted his face into the moss, back arching uncontrollably so his lungs had more room.

When the fit was over and he could take in more than a gasp of dirt and green things he was too strung out to do anything except lay there and breathe. Cas was sitting next to him, quietly, staring at a flake of something small and shimmering on the ground next to Dean’s lips. He touched it with the tip of a finger and it made the bones of his hand glow.

_"Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis. Dona nobis pacem."_

Dean was too fuzzy to translate English, let alone a language he’d never been all that good at, exorcisms aside. Why was Cas quoting Latin now, of all times?

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I can’t stay with you anymore.”

Dean frowned, pushing a small nervous sound past his lips. It was as close to a question as he could get. He didn’t _understand_.

Cas hunkered down until their faces were inches apart, his watery eyes catching Dean’s gaze and holding it. His voice was commanding. (But it wavered at the end, oh how it did.) “You must keep moving, Dean. You _must follow the road_ , no matter how hard it gets. Promise me you’ll remember.”

But Cas didn’t give him the chance to promise anything, whether it was to do as he asked or kick his ass as soon as he could feel his feet again. He barely saw the hand coming towards him, fingers extended, and _there_ was the angel whammy He’d been expecting this whole time—

+++

When Dean opened his eyes again the wounds on his body were healed, the dragon burns and Mother kisses gone without a trace. Cas had disappeared, too, and taken the weak sun with him. The moon was back in its place, full and shining at its zenith once more. 

He stood alone for a moment, listening to the sounds of the trees around him, sad desert things that they were. They must’ve traveled a great distance while he was out - he couldn’t see the spires of the Mother’s weaving over the tops of the trees anymore and the soft place he’d touched down before was long gone. This forest was completely different and much harsher; more scrub and sand than soil. 

But there were stones under the gritty dirt, neglected and hidden with time and nature, leaving an impression Dean could barely see. It led away from where he’d woke and disappeared over the rise into the distance.

(He was listening for the flutter of wings and coattails flapping in the breeze. He heard only silence.) 

Did the road take him somewhere he wanted to go? He supposed it didn't matter; it was a road. He’d been following them all his life. He may as well keep following this one.


	5. Chapter 5

“Castiel, who art in purgatory - I hope - hallowed be thy trenchcoat.

“Cas? Can you hear me? You know what, never mind, this was a stupid idea.

“ _Car 54, where are you?_ I’m just gonna pray you the most annoying theme songs I can think of with your name in the title until you answer me. Ugh, never mind, that’ll just get them stuck in _my_ head.

“Seriously, dude, I don’t remember the proper words and forms and shit, but I could really use a friendly face about now. 

“Look, whatever I did to piss you off, I’m sorry. You gotta answer me, man. Are you even still listening?

“ _Come when you call_ , my ass. Fucking hypocrite.”

+++

Dean used to like those _Choose Your Own Adventure_ books in school. They were fun and almost always held his attention, unlike most of the books Sam used to read as a kid. He liked how if you died you could backtrack a little and figure out the right choice instead. And how they were never written in order, the whole book some mish mash of scenarios that only made sense after you dug a little deeper. He liked that it was never the same story twice and that they were made cheaply available pretty much everywhere.

So here’s a scenario: You’re in purgatory, having long since been separated from your friend-who-happened-to-be an-angel. There’s a light in the distance on the other side of the forest. Do you go towards it or away from it? Towards it, turn to page 8. Away from it, page 24.

Dean almost always went towards it in the book. If you ran away from trouble you just stayed safe at home and didn’t need to read the rest of the story.

He surveyed the trembling silence of the wilds around him. The path continued on before and behind him, endless. He hadn’t seen another (un)living soul for miles, and he’d had to decapitate the last one.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, and took off through the woods.

+++

He expected to find some will-o’-the-wisp playing games, or a giant bioluminescent lightning bug, but in the end the light was simply a fire, placed with careful hands and burning through the darkness.

The lone figure swaying in front of the fire was far more dangerous.

It was in the shape of a woman, willowy curves and longs legs moving to some unheard melody, a slow mournful grind. The harsh light picked out the hints of feathers on her arms and talons on her bare feet. The grey skin and ugly face was hidden in the fall of her hair, so that she looked like some strange hippie chick out to worship the moon instead of a creature capable of turning man’s desire into homicide.

A log shifted in the coals and sent embers blowing into the sky. The crackle of the fire was far too quiet, even from a distance. It was a horrible silence, a void of sound. Like the siren was drawing a breath and the world was waiting for the exhale of venomous song.

From his hiding place in the trees Dean could see through the thin veil of her dress, the firelight shadowing the place where her legs met her hips and the curve of her inner thigh. His mouth flooded with saliva completely without his approval at the suggestion of what might be hidden just out of view. 

Dean knew to get any closer would be to court death. He still wanted to.

God, he’d missed women. Missed _sex_. His desires had been curbed for so long – even before his extended walking vacation – that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to hold someone. To be held. To touch and kiss and fuck and love.

It would be easy to alert her to his presence, to make a noise or break a stick. To walk right into her embrace. It was tempting, so tempting, to allow himself that respite. The nothingness being under her spell could bring. And there was an interesting thought: what _did_ he want most in the world now? 

The siren could no more lift him from this place than she could lift herself. And he was pretty sure angels were beyond her ability to synthesize.

And Dean remembered if it looked like people, it was dangerous.

He rubbed his hand over his bottom lip and turned back the way he came. It was hard to leave her behind but Dean had a lot of experience in denying himself what he wanted, so in the end he let his feet lead him away.

+++

Once he left the path, it was impossible to find it again.

He retraced his steps from the siren’s meadow twice, walking far longer than he had to get there, and still nothing. He looked for any landmarks that might point the way, panic growing steadily in the space between his ribs where his soul lived. Everything looked the same; he should have left marks on the trees, tied a shoelace around a rock, left a trail of fucking _bread crumbs_ , anything! How could he be so stupid? What was he going to do now?

There were red eyes in the darkness, shadows looming huge in the trees. 

He stopped spinning and stared, forcing himself to take a deep breath. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl as he forced air into his starving lungs. The machete, stained and starting to dull, was a welcome weight in his hand.

They watched him, silently, while a cool numbness smothered the dread of being lost and alone far away from home. After awhile, the red eyes blinked and faded back into the forest whence they came, leaving without a trace. Dean was under no illusion that he’d frightened them away; any creatures willing to follow prey through all of purgatory weren’t going to give up that easily. But he would bide his time, just as he suspected they bided theirs. That was a confrontation for another day. 

He turned a final time to check his periphery, tried to get a vague sense of north, and headed into the heart of the woods.

+++

Cas had called the leviathan the piranha that would eat the whole aquarium. What he hadn’t mentioned – maybe what he didn’t even _know_ – was that the fishbowl of purgatory was filled with other predators, too, some just as bad or worse. There were lionfish and sharks and those creepy fucks with no skin on the bottom of the ocean. But there were also seahorses and cuttlefish and jellies, things so beautiful and strange Dean could barely comprehend their entirety.

He encountered many monsters during his time alone in purgatory. The afterlife was a kaleidoscope of weirdness with every color of the rainbow manifesting something terrible. Most tried to eat him, though few got close enough to try. Many more than that fell under his blade. And still some were simply there to marvel at, uninterested and uncaring, simple beasts that traveled through the wilderness the same as he did.

He hid in the bushes when another grothy monster passed overhead, picking squirmy things out of the treetops with its long narrow beak.

He watched a pack of black dogs take on a chupacabra and win, then bring the pieces of their prize home to their pups.

He listened to a crocotta call his name through the forest. He hadn’t recognized the voice it’d used it had shivered oddly across his spine. He’d been hoping for something more familiar to break the silence.

He fought off a rugaru that had no legs, pulling itself through the underbrush towards him while he rested next to a small pond. The bite marks along its stumpy knees suggested it’d turned on itself to slake its terrible hunger. He watched the nameless creature that lived in that pond devour the screaming rugaru whole.

He killed when he had to, ran when he didn’t. He lost fights and won them, bled and healed himself as best he could. There wasn’t any sign of the sun or any relief from the ravenous dark.

And through it all, he prayed.

+++

“Cas, please. I need help.

“Please, please Castiel. Answer me. Don’t leave me alone here.

“Please, Cas.

“ _Please_.”

+++

Once, when he’d been walking for longer than he could remember, it started to snow. The sky had taken on that strange grey glow that meant bad weather was coming but the fat flakes drifting down were still a surprise. Soon there was a thick blanket of it on the ground, sticking in clumps to his boots. 

The further into the woods he went the heavier the snow fell. Dean paused at a break in the tree line to watch the world disappear under all that white. There was probably a hideous yeti with one arm looking for Jedis to eat somewhere out in the blizzard, but he didn't care. The air had that hushed crispness only a recent snowfall could provide and the only sounds were his boots braking through the thin crust of ice. He sat still on the ground, nestled in like a sled dog, courting the silence. His breath plumed around him but he wasn’t cold, not even a little. 

Dean hated being cold. He hated the feeling of his toes going numb in his shoes, how sloppy his fingers got when it was only a few degrees above freezing. Too many crappy hotel rooms where the only choice was Arctic or Sierra, he supposed. It was why he started wearing so many layers, though it’d kinda turned into his _thing_ after awhile; he felt naked with only a single shirt, even in the summer. 

It was nice to be out in the weather and not worry about getting frostbite or feeling the cold damp soak into his socks. Purgatory was clean and pure, if only for this tiny stretch of time. It made him wish there were someone there to share it with, which made him think about Cas and purity at the same time and that was not a direction he actually wanted his thoughts to go. So he made himself consider why he wasn’t turning into a Dean-shaped icicle frozen to the grass instead.

His body felt numb, but not in a pins-and-needles way or an I-fell-asleep-on-my-arm way, or even an I’m-having-a-heart-attack way (thanks to that rawhead Dean knew exactly what that felt like). It was distant, odd, like his whole body was shot full of Novocain. He closed his eyes and imagined himself suspended inside his vessel: a tight little ball of Deanness curled in his center, fetal, glowing, golden. Or maybe bronze - he felt more like a bronze than a gold. 

If his vessel didn’t require food or sleep and he could make it heal and ignore the touch of seasons, then what else could it do?

Dean opened his eyes and found that his breath obscured his view of the winter vista spread out before him, so he tried to get rid of it. He slowed everything down, his heart pumping slower, taking longer between each shallow breath, forcing his chest to barely expand. His soul was a little glowing snitch inside him, feathery wings extending out to his extremities, keeping everything running at the bare minimum necessary. Eventually he exhaled… and just didn’t inhale again afterward.

The world went very still. The snow stopped melting when it settled on his skin.

He’d never been possessed; never been anything but himself. He’d had a little bit of monster in him, but even when his blood was burning to taste someone else’s he’d just been Dean, magnetized and magnified. It was strange to consider that he possessed himself, that he’d become an interloper in his own body. 

It was remarkably peaceful not to feel anything anymore.

What would it mean to stay that way forever and let himself be swallowed by the snowdrifts? He'd become like those giant ice sculptures in Antarctica, carved and hollowed into strange shapes by the wind. Frozen forever until he fell into the ocean and was worn away, so much moisture blown to the four corners of the earth. He kind of felt that way already.

A solid few inches of snow had fallen since he started not-breathing. He shook like a dog before rising to his feet, one steady foot in front of the other, sending tiny avalanches of snow cascading from his shoulders and the crown of his head. It slipped down his collar and Dean flicked it away irritably.

He’d been shattered before and didn’t like it. Spending eternity that way would have made for a very long time in an impossible situation. He took some of the icy quiet with him when he moved, tucking it into the hollow space where he used to feel his heart beating.

+++

Dean walked through the snow and down the side of a hill around a valley where djinn wove blue-tinged dreams into the air above them. It was nice from a distance, _purgatorio borealis_ , but confusing to navigate through. None of their poison settled into his veins – being numb came with benefits, it seemed.

+++

Just past another nest of vampires and beyond a group of ghouls he came across a gang of monsters hurting a smaller one. It wasn’t the first time and he shouldn’t have cared; purgatory was a bitch of a place and you were either predator or prey. Except there were three beasts-as-men against one beast-as-woman, and she was crying. Two of them were holding her face-down and the third was biting the back of her throat and shoving down her pants. 

Dean hated to see a woman cry.

He was on them before they even noticed he was there. After the almost-men were in bloody bits on the ground he watched the not-woman rise and adjust her clothing. He’d meant to cut off her head before she could turn on him – a swift death was the best mercy he could give her – but something about the way she huddled into her red sweatshirt, two sizes too big at least, made him pause.

She turned to thank him and her eyes widened when she got a good look at her savior, the whites of them showing around the brown. She looked at him the same way she’d looked at the monsters holding her down and Dean saw she was just a teenager, damn near a child when she’d changed into whatever cursed her to an eternity of this. She shook her head jerkily and raised her hands palm outward, backing away until she was far enough to turn and run.

Dean may not have been a fan of fairy tales but little Sammy had read them all the time, the words simple and easy for him to grasp. He’d make them up after he exhausted the ones in his books, entertaining Dean and John for miles from the backseat. His dad often starred as the woodsman, or the hunter, bravely saving the little lost princess in the nick of time. Dean was the handsome prince who’d marry her. (After he turned eight he’d kept the stories to himself. Dean wondered if he still made them up sometimes during those long drives cross-country.)

There were no innocent creatures in purgatory and even the monsters wore red hoods. Dean told himself it was better to be the wolf and not the hunter. He stalked through the forest for a long time after that moment of mercy, betrayal and senseless guilt burning deep in his gut like fiery coals.

+++

After that the forest turned… well, not evil exactly. Just creepy. The trees grew taller and thinner, the needles sharp and thick. They blocked out the moonlight completely in their density and Dean had to shift his vision to see even a few feet in front of him. In the end, he’d rather he didn’t. 

The forest floor was littered with bones, suspiciously human in shape, the damp air feeding into the illusion of decay pooling around his feet. He tried to avoid them but every step crushed something small and fragile or kicked a skull to rest against another. Even more disturbing were the creatures floating through the trees, looking down at the ground, feeling among the bones with fingerless hands. They had no definition, no color, more mist than man, but Dean knew this was as close to ghosts as purgatory got.

It started to rain, at first just a few drops plinking off the spreading leaves then huge pouring buckets of the stuff, a torrent. Dean was less than pleased with the change in the weather. First snow, then rain? After he’d had nothing but indeterminable humidity from the moment he arrived?

Dean was soaked through in seconds. He flipped up the collar of his jacket, settled the ball of _self_ more firmly inside to ward off the wetness, and kept going. The soil soaked up every ounce of moisture, leaving muddy puddles in his wake. The bones – sporadic now and more like complete skeletons than driftwood – were slick under his boots.

The flicker of a lantern in the distance was impossible to miss and Dean debated for only a second or two before following it. He’d learned his lesson from the siren; following strange lights in the forest was never a good idea. Still, it was a trail to follow and he’d hunt whatever was at the other end if he had to.

The glow misted through the forest on a breeze, though the rain had brought no wind with it. It arched and curled through the darkness as though rubbing its back against the trees. Like a cat… or a fox.

A woman stood patiently in the middle of a small clearing, her pointed face bright in the gloom. She was soaked, too, not even trying to stay dry, the coat she was wearing stained old-blood dark from the water. In fact she looked exactly the same as she had the last time he saw her… with the exception of the tail curled around her leg. It was bedraggled from the weather, the same as her hair, but Dean suspected it would be quite beautiful and bushy when dry.

Amy Pond sighed and the orange glow licked past her lips to trail across the clearing and twine around his knees. She raised her head and looked him square in the eye the same way she had the day he’d stabbed her in the heart.

“It really is you.” 

Dean squared up with her, angling his body to offer her the smallest target he could. Her claws weren’t out yet, but Dean knew better than to assume cornered prey wasn’t still dangerous. “In the flesh, unfortunately. You drew me here, Amy Pond. Now what do you want?”

Her eyes flashed the same pale yellow as the moon above them. “ _I want you to suffer!_ You made my son an orphan!” 

Dean was beginning to think he’d be forever cursed with angry mothers. He narrowed the distance between them with a few slow steps. She backed up, her nostrils flaring, eyes wide. She was afraid of him, despite the anger. _Probably a good decision on her part_ , he thought.

“Your son,” she flinched when he paused for effect, testing her temper, “swore to kill me himself after he watched me kill you. I told him he was welcome to try but it looks like he’ll have to wait in line.”

“I don’t believe that.” For a moment Dean thought the hope of a mother for her child’s innocence would stand firm, even in this place, but then Amy grimaced and bared her teeth. “Jacob was young and sick. He doesn’t know how to kill anyone yet, let alone a hunter.”

Dean made a show of pulling out his machete. What little light there was reflected off the metal blade and he angled it so it flashed across her night-blind eyes. Any advantage in a fight – and surely there was one coming. The machete wouldn’t kill a kitsune but nothing died permanently here, anyway. “I’m sure he’ll learn. It’s in his nature, after all.”

Amy backed up, head lowered but keeping him in her sights. Her tail twitched and swayed behind her. “No. There’s no one left to teach him. He’s going to starve and this hell is far too big for me to find him in it. He’ll be lost forever.” She swiped at her eyes, sorrow warring with hatred on her face. “I was going to try killing you for that.”

He ran his thumb over the worn handle of the machete. “You wouldn’t get very far.”

“I know. I’ve never really had the killer instinct.” Dean paused in his advance when she stopped moving, surprised despite himself. If she didn’t intend to fight him, then what was all this about? 

He didn’t like the smile tilting up the side of her mouth. It was an ugly thing, bitter through the tears. “Then I remembered there were even nastier things than you in these woods. Before we were reduced to scavenging off of scraps my kind used to be the servants of gods. I think I’d rather watch one of them have their way with you instead.” 

Dean turned just as the monster jumped out from behind the copse of trees Amy had lured him to. It was heavy, taking him down underneath it easily. They landed in a splash of muddy rainwater that promptly made itself at home in Dean’s mouth. The creature’s back claws dug deep into his belly before its momentum pushed it straight over onto its back. If Dean hadn’t tilted his torso at just the right moment the move would’ve separated his guts from his garter for sure.

The monster rolled over a thin sapling and skidded in the mud, claws digging in as it tried to right itself. Dean’d never seen anything like it outside of pictures on a website when they’d hunted that shojo. He thought it might’ve been a nue, an ill-omen from days of old. (Pity he didn’t read Japanese or he might know how to actually take it down.) Its thick body rode low to the ground, the monkey-like face sneering at him with fangs as long as his palm. And, strangest of all, the thing had a snake for a tail. It loomed over the creature’s shoulder and hissed at Dean. 

_Snakes_ , he thought. _Why’d it have to be snakes?_

They paced around each other, the monster and Dean, filling up the little clearing with their battle. It trilled a strange and eerie whistle then rushed forward, swiping at Dean’s legs with its talons. He jerked backward, slicing with his machete to keep a second attack from the snake head at bay.

His feet slipped out from under him, the torrent of rain pushing the dirt away in rivers under Dean’s boots. He went down on one knee and only then noticed the mud underneath him was turning a disheartening red color. Just because he couldn’t feel the blood loss yet didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

At least the rain was an equalizer. The thing lost its footing, too, falling hard onto its barrel chest. Dean ran towards it, blade at the ready –

And far too late to be effective. The monster dissolved into black mist, circling around the clearing. He watched it turn for a second, planning its course. It wasn’t altogether unlike a demon gone to smoke, plowing around anything in its way and making a beeline for Dean’s head.

He waited for it to fly closer then leapt onto the broken sapling, using the extra height to push the machete straight into the mist and let it cut through the oncoming storm. With a warbling groan the creature fell to the ground out of the cloud, stunned and gaping. The snake head waved about halfheartedly, its mouth open wide and biting air. Dean had cut the nue through the meat of its shoulder and into its chest.

He watched it writhe, clutching his own stomach to staunch the blood flow. The creature’s wound was already healing, the matted fur growing back before his eyes. He had to stop it fast and there was only one way he could think to do it – a good, old fashioned smiting.

Dean channeled all his anger and guilt and pain into that little bronze ball in his chest until it was the burning heart of him, spreading out through the confines of his body. He glowed with it, star-bright in the darkness. Then he tightened his grip on the machete and plunged it to the hilt into the chimera’s chest with a single mighty thrust. Blood sprayed everywhere. The light in his veins pulsed down the blade and into the monster’s chest.

It howled, many voices crying out at once, and then was still. Something flickered against its ribs from inside its skin and then faded away. Across the forest, strange animals bayed and red eyes flared to life between the trees.

Dean stood over the corpse, feeling dizzy and depleted and wanting nothing more than to simply _stop_ for a minute. Movement across the clearing drew his attention; expecting his normal stalkers he was surprised to find the eyes watching him were yellow instead of red. It took him a moment to recall why Amy Pond was cowering in the bushes and even longer than that to actually remember her name.

He yanked the machete out of the nue’s body, staring her in the eye while he did it. He took a step in her direction.

She screamed, hiding her face in her tail and holding out her hands to ward him off. 

Dean thought about red hoods and redder blood and how purgatory was the place monsters went when they died. He wiped the mix of nue blood and rainwater off his face with the back of his hand and tucked the machete away, not bothering to clean it. He leaned over Amy without touching her, silencing her cries with just the weight and nearness of his body.

“Nobody’s nastier than me,” he said, and left her sobbing on the ground next to his kill.

+++

Later, curled protectively under a half-rotten log and holding together the gash on his stomach so his guts wouldn’t fall out, Dean was the one crying. He hoped for pain, yearned for the sickening nausea that meant he was still alive. For his body to tell him that what his eyes and his hands experienced was the same thing.

And still he felt nothing. Not a twinge. Not a flash of discomfort. No remorse for what he’d done.

He kicked at the puddles around his refuge, slammed his fist into the log, anything to turn his thoughts from orphans and children without mothers. He bashed his head against the ground and let the screams come, followed as always by the tears. 

And he prayed and prayed and prayed again, chanting a name into to the rocks.

_Please, Cas._

_Please._

+++

He stayed hidden under the log until the rain finished having its way with purgatory, washing away the blood he’d lost and the remnants of the beast on his boots. When he finally moved his hands the wound on his stomach was gone, the ragged edges of his shirt the only proof it’d ever actually happened. His head felt heavy and the rest of him felt too light.

He crawled out from his hole, wiped his hands on his pants, and walked on.

+++

And walked.

And walked. 

And fought the monsters he found in the forest.

And walked.

And fought.

And walked.

And walked.

+++

Dean walked and fought and fought and walked, until even the dead mean things left him alone. The machete wore down to a thin shank of metal kept wicked on rocks and werewolf hearts. His night vision grew sharp enough to pick out the smallest glimmer of eyeshine in the moonlight and he wandered, cutting down anything unlucky enough to find itself in his path. 

When his mind wearied of walking he stopped, watching the trees move in a wind he couldn’t feel. He often closed his eyes and swayed to the rhythm of the world. Nothing attacked him while he was resting, even after he let his guard down. He would almost welcome an attack; it was different than the beginning, when the monsters stalked he and Cas. They gave him a wide berth most of the time.

His body - that hated vessel of old - had been named the Michael Sword by all those douchebag angels. He figured this made it an instrument, a tool, a weapon, something sharp-edged and deadly. Daddy’s little hammer. He used to hate being called that. But here, he realized, his body also had the capacity for greatness when wielded properly, like Michael had been hoping to do. Dean had already been wielding and yielding it for years. 

So Dean made of himself a weapon, fashioned on the bones of a hundred thousand purgatory beasts beneath his blade. And after awhile he forgot to miss sleep or food or the touch of someone else on his skin. The feel of leather under his body, of being rocked to sleep by the soothing metallic lullaby of machinery.

There was only the hunt. Only the journey. He didn’t remember why he was moving, just that he was. 

And that was when the red eyed beasts finally melted out of the shadows and stepped into the light.


	6. Chapter 6

The werewolf pounced on him out of nowhere, drawn to his scent and slowly beating heart, knocking the machete right out of his grip. It was strange that something so trivial would attack him so brazenly but he didn’t let his surprise stop him from punching it as hard as he could in the throat and slinging it over his shoulders into the thorny bushes.

It shook its head, rolling back onto all fours. It was a strange mix of fang and fur, woman and wolf. The werewolf’s eyes were wide slats of black in the paleness of its face, the iris almost completely eclipsed in the darkness. _The better to see you with my dear_. It might have been pretty in a former life, but it was spitting mad now and fugly to boot.

It snarled at him. He bared his teeth in a grin.

It leapt, aiming at his tender midsection; claws reaching to rip open his chest. He let it come, raising his hands so a blast of _light heat him_ came pouring out of his palms. It slammed into the werewolf and hurled it to the ground where it lay, panting, muscles trembling.

He looked around the undergrowth for the shine of his weapon, finding it in a tuft of grass below a willow tree. He stumbled back to the werewolf, raising it high to cut it down. 

She blinked bleary brown eyes at him, squinting, shading her face from his brightness. “Sam?”

Werewolves had blue eyes. Something had changed.

Dean’s arm sputtered to a halt, the machete slowly sinking out of the killing stroke. He hadn’t heard or thought of that name for miles…

The _light_ burning through his veins faded back into his dull and blistered soul. He reached down and helped the monster to her feet.

+++

The wolf girl’s name was Madison and Dean’s brother had shot her in the head six years ago.

He couldn’t help remembering the look on Sam’s face when he’d killed her. That day had damn near broken him. Dean’s faded heart still ached in sympathy for him.

They wound up sitting around a tiny campfire, the light pitiful in the surrounding darkness. It was the first fire he’d had the pleasure of building in purgatory and was happy to sacrifice the last of his lighter fluid for the cause. Though it wasn’t until there was light other than the moon that Dean realized how long he’d gone without; it hurt his eyes to watch the fire too long. He imagined he looked like some crazed homeless person from the sewers, pale and dirty. 

Madison wasn’t much better. The baggy flannel shirt she was wearing was torn and bloody, her long brown hair hanging in clumped waves down her shoulders. She huddled close to the fire for warmth, hugging her knees. Dean couldn’t feel a thing through his tough and bitter skin but he appreciated the oasis of light and the chance to sit quietly. 

Of course, there was no guarantee Madison wouldn’t jump him again. But at lease he’d see her coming the next time.

"Sorry about calling you Sam earlier, Dean. And the whole 'trying to eat you thing, too, I suppose. My last few days on earth...” She had a bit of a lisp thanks to the fangs, but it wasn’t that hard to understand her. “My memories aren't always what they used to be." 

“Don’t worry about it. Turning into a monster and getting shot in the head will do that to a person, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” She looked down, her canines chewing on the soft skin of her lower lip. Dean felt like an ass for bringing it up but he didn’t really know what else to talk to her about. Their time together had been very brief. “I'd heard there was a human around but I never thought it'd be someone I recognized.”

That was three times now he’d heard that. Was there a purgatory facebook page he didn’t have access to or something, posting status updates about what the weird dude in plaid was up to? Like Bigfoot sightings for the undead. "Well, that’s a long story about a Dick and an angel."

" _Ah_. I’d heard he was around for awhile, too. I didn’t realize you were together.” She leaned towards him with a sly smile. “You know, I thought you might have been the overcompensating type." 

"What? _No_. The dick was a leviathan, it was capitalized. And Cas’ an actual angel. With giant wings and overwhelming abandonment issues." 

"Oh. Those things exist? I guess anything’s possible.” Madison shrugged, warming her hands on the small flame. “Sorry about the gay thing. You gotta admit, it sounded a little like a romance novel." 

"More like HP Lovecraft, but okay."

They fell into silence, the crackle of the fire a welcome break from the quiet woodsy sounds that were the soundtrack of Dean’s life. Speaking of… “Aren’t you worried some big nasty’s gonna see the fire and come get you?”

Madison grinned, terrible teeth flashing in the campfire light. “This is my territory, Dean. It’s small but it’s mine. _I’m_ the big nasty around here.”

“Nice.” Dean was impressed; Madison hadn’t been in purgatory all that long, after all. “Certainly seems like a change since the last time I saw you. What happened to not wanting to hurt people?”

“The last time you saw me I was getting my brains blown out. I hardly think this compares.” She didn’t look altogether bothered by it, rubbing her hands before the fire again. “It’s different here, Dean. It’s much better than the fiery pit I expected after I ate those guys. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d kill for a tub of Hagen Daz and the new season of All My Children, but I don’t have to worry about hurting anyone here. There’s not anyone here to hurt. Like, I didn’t choose this, but I kind of like it? I feel empowered. Strong. I’m in control here, in my own little pocket of purgatory. I didn’t have that before.”

She smiled, doing her best to close her mouth and look innocent. “There’s also a part of me that wants to rip you to pieces and eat your beating hear, so that’s new. But it’s a small part.”

Dean laughed, a rusty sad little thing that scraped his throat. But it was a laugh all the same.

He offered her the last of his whiskey; sad to see it go for all the good it was doing him. She grimaced at the burn as it went down and he could see the mouthful hit her hard. He wondered if it was the remnants of the physical world lingering in the flask that had such an effect on her werewolf soul or if Madison had always been a lightweight. Her muscles went lax, weary, and she curled up on her side to watch the flames dance with hazy eyes.

Her voice was quiet and he almost missed it in the crackle. “How is he?”

It took a surprisingly long time for Dean to realize who she was talking about. There was only one person it could have been, really. "Sam? He's..." Dean paused to think about his brother, the dark circles under his eyes and the eternal puppydog hopefulness. Finally free of Lucifer and all his crazy shenanigans. It’d been so long since he’d imagined Sam - stuck on the other side of the veil, fighting leviathans and (maybe) working to free him from the hell of purgatory - that it was something like a betrayal to have a werewolf more concerned than he was. "He's had a rough couple of years. You know, Satan and all, but... he's getting better. Sam's gonna be ok." 

_Without me_. Going so long without checking in with Sam didn’t sit well with Dean but he supposed it was for the best. He felt more monstrous than man these days and having Sam look at him the same way he’d looked at Madison before killing her was unbearable. And what did it matter anyway? He was never going to see Sam again.

He took a deep breath, putting the cap back on the empty flask. “Sam’ll be okay.”

And without Dean, he might even stay that way.

+++

Demons didn’t need to rest in hell. They didn’t need to sing or eat or fuck either, but they did all three anyway. When Alistair got bored or wanted to give Dean a chance to heal up before the next round he’d wander off and leave Dean alone. For thirty years he was the only thing Dean saw, aside from his own bloody parts and the gritty darkness of his cell. The first time he’d encountered another soul he’d been holding the razor that cut out her eyes. _If he didn’t get to see anyone else_ , he’d thought, _then neither does she._

But before all that there’d been hours of silence, just Dean and his thoughts. The _absence_ of other people tore him more surely than any wound Alistair could produce. Those hours were the worst. They made him actually crave the cut of Alistair’s knife just so he’d know he wasn’t abandoned any more. In the end, it was the solitude that broke him.

In the beginning of the torture, when Dean still clutched hope tightly and prayed for salvation, he’d tried to fill the quiet with his thoughts. He’d remember things out loud; tell himself stories so he wouldn’t forget the faces of his family or the Latin of an exorcism. When even that was too painful or when the memories just wouldn’t come, he sang. Old tunes from the Impala’s cassette collection. Songs with lyrics buried so deeply inside his brain that they were branded on the grey matter like tattoos – Alistair even said he saw them, the couple times he popped Dean’s skull open and had a look inside.

Walking through purgatory was a lot like those later days in hell; without the chance of rescue and slowly changing into something unfathomable. He’d left his hope for a miracle buried deep in the snow and covered in monster blood.

Seeing Madison stirred up all the old thoughts and memories, leaving a bittersweet residue in his brain. Dean left her sleeping by the coals of the fire and struck out on his own again. He thought about his family and how terribly he missed them when he allowed himself to. It brought to mind other tours of duty, other useless expeditions across the continent, cradled in the metallic hum of his baby.

Before Sammy had been old enough for reading stories, back when the ash of his home had stolen Dean’s mother and his voice, his father used to sing them to sleep. It was probably just to fill the hollow spaces in the car where his wife and the chattering babble of his four year old used to be, but John had sang along with the radio or a tape as they drove down the highway at night. Dean had kept those same cassettes in the glove box, nestled under the extra ammo and first aid kit. He could still hear his father’s voice - softened in the hushed early hours, calloused thumb wiping the hair away from Dean’s forehead when he curled up next to him on the seat.

There was one song in particular that had been his favorite. The rhythm came to him easy but the words were a little harder to remember. Which was ridiculous; he’d known that forever. How’d it go again? He tried humming it quietly and the lyrics came slowly and then blossomed in his head with the smell of leather and home. 

“ _I pulled into Nazareth, was feelin' ‘bout half past dead. I just need some place where I can lay my head._ ”

His voice was raspy and weak from neglect, a pale shadow of the smooth operator who could con a woman out of her pants and murderers out of where they’d stashed the body. He coughed and cleared his throat. A trickle of warmth curled around his tongue and he swallowed it down like soothing ginger ale. Dean’s voice was stronger after and he sang loudly without a care or thought to what might be listening to him sing. What did he have to worry about here, anyway? It wasn’t like anything that would attack him could leave permanent damage.

Towards the second chorus Dean was really getting into it, hearing his voice echo off the thick-trunked redwoods that grew in this neck of the woods. He tipped his head to the sky, drumming out the beat with a hand on his thigh.

 _“Take a load off, Annie. Take a load for free. Take a load off, Annie. And, aaaaaaaaand–_ “

A single low howl drowned out his quickly faltering one. Soon another, then a third, and still more joined in, the harmony rising through the trees. The creatures responsible were very close. 

He’d heard that sound before. Dean waited, shadowed by the enormous forest around him, and sure enough red lights lit up the darkness, blinking.

“ _Come on!_ ” he cried, waving the sliver of machete back and forth, calling them out. “I’m tired of this game. You wanna play? Let’s play!”

Slowly a pair of eyes drifted closer, a shape appearing behind it in the shadows. _Finally_ , Dean thought, and stepped forward to meet the monster that’d been hunting his steps since the very beginning.

The creature that filled the space between the trees was unlike anything Dean had ever seen before, even with all the monsters he’d torn through to get there. Sleek and powerful, a hint of scales and furry stripes ran along its flank. The face was almost human, despite the pointy teeth poking over the wide mouth. It was huge, taller than Dean, and as he watched it reared up on its tree trunk legs, dwarfing out the moon.

He gasped despite himself, filling up empty lungs.

 _We have been watching you, Little Wild One_. Dean didn’t actually _hear_ the creature speak; its voice was more of a growl shivering through his brain, leaving behind impressions and colors. He wasn’t sure how he was translating that to actual words, but its intentions were clear. The beast watched him, red eyes gleaming. _You are like the others but not. How many kills have you?_

"More than I can count. Care to see for yourself?" He kept staring into those burning eyes, the bluster of courage keeping his arm straight and his feet from running. This creature was far more dangerous than he could’ve imagined. And there were more of them waiting in the trees.

A rumble shook its barrel chest - Dean thought it sounded pleased, like the purr of a great hunting cat. Or maybe threatening, the hiss of a mother gator protecting her babies. It was hard to tell. _Don’t want to fight. Want to **know**._

A creepy crawly _not_ wanting to eat him? Yeah, right. Dean turned his attention to the others he could sense lurking in the shadows. They chortled and barked and slunk around, but none of them came anywhere near the shafts of moonlight filtering through the trees.

The thing lowered itself back onto all fours, the ground shaking when it landed. It leaned forward, large nose sniffing Dean’s direction. _You have been hungry busy thirsty, Little Wild One. Many sacrifices since your time here. Who do you serve?_

“I serve myself.” That’s all he’d ever wanted to do, in the end. Fuck all that destiny noise. (Only that wasn’t true, was it? Michael and Sam and Dad Dad Dad.)

Another rumbling growl. It nodded its head at his answer, lips curling back.

 _Wait_ , he thought. _Was this a_ test _? Why the hell would a purgatory beast want to know-_

The monster took a single step closer – grabbing distance now – and Dean raised his machete higher. _Good. Made strong. Not as strong as We. But strong all the same._

The red-eyed monsters moved out of the bushes toward him, an assortment of horrors and things that should have been floating in jars. Tentatively they circled him, closing in. 

It was still a single voice in his head, though. _Want you to run with us, LittleWildOne. Join Pack._

It scraped a talon softly against the metal of the machete, the red of its eyes dulled to a rich amber. The paw hovered there, inches from Dean’s face. It… wanted to touch him.

It’d been so long since he’d been touched by something that didn’t want to hurt him. Even Madison had kept her distance. Could he… Was this for real?

Dean inched forward. The claw was stiff and hard against the curve of his cheek but the skin at the end of it was warm. He couldn’t actually feel the heat but he knew it was there. Or he could pretend that it was, if only for a moment. He wanted something gentle. Something soft. It’d been _so long_. 

He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. The monster rumbled that terrible crocodile purr. Its whole paw cupped the side of his head and petted him, gently for such a large beast. The machete was dull and heavy in his hand. For once, Dean didn’t want to use it. He didn’t need to.

The monster lowered its paw and moved behind Dean, nudging his shoulder and pushing him toward where the other creatures had already retreated into the tree line. He sent up a quick prayer to the universe ( _gonna do something really stupid here, Cas_ ) and followed them.

+++

Dean decided to call the monsters Wild Things, because… well, because he could. Dean had no idea what they really were so he felt justified making the name up. Maybe some extinct species of chimera - each one was a jacked up hodgepodge of creatures cobbled together in ways that shouldn’t be biologically possible. Scales and fangs, feathers and fur all on one body. They switched from crawling on all fours to running on two as easily as Dean breathed (or didn’t breathe, depending on his mood). And, of course, they all had glowing red eyes. 

He wasn’t sure how many Wild Things there were, just that they were all different and all immensely and incredibly _old_. The big one that had crept out of the forest first was still the only one to ‘talk’ to him though the roar echoed so terribly in his head it was hard to tell; Dean suspected they might have been a hivemind like the Borg and they were all actually speaking at the same time. They certainly moved together that way, prowling through the giant trees in a nearly silent pack, their wide feet maneuvering the mulchy ground easily. 

He stayed close to the big one, just in case. (Dean wanted to call it Ferdinand because of the horns, but he really had no clue whether it was a boy or a girl so he went with Ferdie instead.) It didn’t seem to mind his company, lowering its body so its massive head was closer to Dean’s height. It flicked its silky tail like a pleased house cat. _We have been here long and long Little Wild One. Became tired after time hurt Us. Became old. Pieces went away. But then We **learned**. Like you._

Ferdie bumped him, playfully rubbing its bristly head against Dean’s shoulder. A tingle trembled along Dean’s ribs, bounced up to his skull, and disappeared again. He shivered a little, despite the numbness.

The creature’s lips curled over its teeth in what Dean hoped was a smile. _You are new shiny strong. But small. Teach you to become stronger. Like Us. Listen now._

The monsters had stopped, poised on their toes, listening. After a moment Dean could hear it, too: the distant whisper of voices and the rustle of leaves underfoot. Something was moving through the forest ahead of them.

Dean expected the Wild Things to run the strangers down, pouncing and swallowing them whole. Instead they lowered themselves to the ground all at once, curled their tails around their feet, closed their burning eyes, and waited. Ferdie snagged a claw in his jacket pocket and tugged Dean under the sticky fronds of a great fern. It was a good vantage point to watch the hunt.

Within moments two shifters crept warily around a fallen sequoia, eyeing it with mistrust. The male and female – human but for the sheen of silver in their eyes – were speaking in a language Dean didn’t understand. They seemed upset, though. Afraid. Looking over their shoulders for trouble when it was crouching in the darkness ahead of them. 

Prey always knew when a predator was watching.

The shifters walked right into the middle of the pack, completely unaware how close to death they were. The male stopped in front of Dean and Ferdie shifted its claws into the dirt, tail twitching with anticipation. He turned – and one of the smaller Wild Things leapt on his back, talons digging into the meat of his shoulders. He went down hard, clods of dirt and rock jutting up from the impact of his body into the ground. 

The Wild Thing opened its jaws impossibly wide and clamped down on the shifter’s neck, ripping his head clean off. The female shouted from somewhere to their left, but Dean couldn’t look away from the violence before him to find her. It was ghastly, devastating. Powerful. The Wild Thing licked the blood from its chops and tossed the body aside. A light fluttered briefly in its throat, then went out. The Wild Thing shook itself all over and roared a sonic bass boom that echoed in Dean’s chest. Then it backed away, making mewling satisfied sounds, and settled onto its haunches behind the others to groom itself. Completely uninterested in the rest of the proceedings.

The shifter did not get up again. The corpse flickered – like the afterimage of a camera flash – then slowly disappeared.

Dean’d seen light like that before. _Christ_ , he thought, _was that the shifter’s_ soul _? Did the Wild Thing just_ eat _it?_

Ferdie patted Dean’s shoulder with its front paw, purring, and together they moved closer to where the female shifter was being held down by another Wild Thing’s massive weight. She moaned as the form of her companion faded into nothing. “No! Please, no. Please!”

Her begging collapsed into a frothy gurgle when Ferdie slashed her open from navel to neck, twin sets of furrows down the core of her. (Dean couldn’t help his flinch at that. The sound had the echo of hell in it.) A grey light shimmered briefly behind the jutting ribs, so quickly Dean almost missed it. Ferdie pushed him harder this time and Dean stumbled, cupping his hands against the mangled flesh and bones to break his fall. The light moved again, licking up against his fingertips—

And it was _warm_.

Christ god fucking damn. The light was _warm_ and Dean could _feel it_. Like the first tingly piss after swimming all day or taking a hot shower after getting caught in the rain – he hadn’t realized how cold he actually was until he suddenly _wasn’t_. He pressed both palms against the corpse, frantically chasing the fleeting heat. He tried prying apart the shifter’s ribs to get to it faster but he just wasn’t strong enough to move them out of the way with one hand. The light shrunk away from his touch under the shredded lung.

Ferdie stroked its paw over Dean’s hair, crooning encouragements in his ear. It plucked a bit of the light onto its claw and held it to his lips. _Eat. Grow strong. Tribute._

And Dean wanted to, he wanted to take that heat inside himself, feel it spread through his body like a guzzle of expensive whiskey. Ferdie ’s claw tapped his lip ( _time for the train to enter the tunnel, choo choo_ ) and it crumbled the little resistance Dean was able to piece together. 

The light was smooth in his mouth but burned when he swallowed, bitter warmth _curling flowing leaking_ down his throat. It was his first real, true taste of anything since he entered this godforsaken place and God help him but he was licking Ferdie ’s claws for more, diving down to lap at the shifter’s chest wound like it was his mother’s cooking and he needed to clean his plate. 

Since he needed both hands to hold back the ribs he shoved his whole face into the carcass, ripping out chunks just to taste more. And there _was_ more – a tiny flashbulb of brightness he slurped up and chewed between his teeth, relishing the harsh blister on his tongue.

He came up gasping, bloody, burning everywhere the light touched his insides. Ferdie and the Wild Things howled around him, leaping and pouncing on each other joyously. 

The heat felt so fantastic he took a breath and joined them.

+++

Dean joined the group seamlessly after that, as if he’d been a part of them his whole life. They roamed across purgatory together without a care for the other residents they encountered. The Wild Things were strong enough to claim the whole _world_ as their territory if they wanted to. They moved through the trees as a silent unit, a threat whispered on the breeze. Dean felt downright clumsy in their wake; he hadn’t stumbled or made so much noise on a hunt since he was a teenager.

When they weren’t stalking through purgatory’s underbelly they often played together like cubs when the mama wolf was gone - games of tag and pouncing, chewing on each other’s tails or jumping into piles of leaves. They groomed each other’s fur and feathers (the scales required little maintenance, aside from the occasional molt, which they Didn’t Talk About). And in between they curled sleeping in the illusion of touch and warmth. 

The Wild Things had a strange way of speaking, but Dean got very good at figuring out what they meant. He even tried to explain names to them a few times, with mixed results. He was always Little Wild One regardless of how many times he corrected them. He gave them all names, anyway, so he could keep them straight in his head. It was impossible to tell their gender so he stuck to the basics. The smaller ones were Creepy, Bouncy, Lars, and Maurice. The larger ones were trickier, staying more aloof than the others and only swooping in for the hunts. He called them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Ferdie was the largest of the seven and got first dibs on prey when it wasn’t spending time training and tending to Dean.

They all seemed thrilled with their new and exciting plaything but Ferdie took a special interest in him. He didn’t really mind; when a fourteen-feet-tall monster offered you a lesson in proper claw maintenance, you didn’t turn it down. 

Ferdie and the others taught him how to howl properly after his first less than impressive experiment with the shifters. He learned about how raising their voices to the sky made it theirs, made it something attainable and claimable. How to respect the curl of the moon, to sing to it, to shape his call to match its curves. Why it was important to let the world know that he was there and that he demanded respect and space as far as his voice could carry.

Dean, for his part, taught the Wild Things to sing. They had the basis for it down but it was tricky to convince them that the howls could be bent to tell a story rather than send a message. The learning curve was pretty steep and nobody could hit the high notes but in the end watching everybody try to dance to ‘Thriller’ made it all worth it.

He slept a lot more after he joined the Wild Things, especially after a hunt. (Dean felt better after he ate something, so he didn’t give it much thought.) Sometimes, when he grew too weary to run or when the bright moon was just too painful to bear, he climbed on their backs and let them carry him, their loping gate lulling him to doze. 

It was a peaceful interlude for all that he was surrounded by creatures out of mankind’s nightmares. He shouldn’t have been surprised when they came to a clearing and found the angel waiting for them.

Ferdie stopped in its tracks, a growl echoing through its thick chest. The others quickly picked up the warning call and the slender trees around them trembled with the vibrations. It woke Dean from the nest of feathers he’d found himself in after their last period of sleep. (Maurice must’ve picked him up when the pack decided to move on while he was still resting.)

Cas looked like he didn’t give two fucks that he was facing down some of the worst monsters this craphole afterlife had to offer. He met their burning gaze head on and called them out. Or called _him_ out.

“Dean. It’s time to leave this place. Come down from there.”

He blinked some of the sleep out of his eyes and slid down Maurice’s side, arms a little tingly from where he’d been laying on them. He hit the ground and Ferdie’s claws immediately caged him in, tugging him back and keeping him safe from the Stranger Danger. It curled its neck down, clacking its wide jaws together and hooking one of its canines over Dean’s shoulder. He’d learned to think of it as a gesture of affection.

Dean leaned against the wicked curves, eyeing the angel before him. Cas was in full battle mode, his sword drawn and stance aggressive. There were deep circles under his eyes, though, as if he hadn’t stopped moving for months. (Dean knew what that was like.) Dirt was ground into every visible inch of him… and was that a _beard_? 

Dean swallowed, pushing moisture through a suddenly dry throat. “You left me.” 

“Yes. And we’ll have a moment about that later but right now you need to come with me.” He darted his attention back and forth among the Wild Things, not willing or able to look Dean in the eye. 

Ferdie’s low growl rose in volume along with the hackles on the back of its neck. It stared at Cas, daring him to step closer to its prize. _No. Keep him. Pack stays._

“He was my pack before he met any of you and he’s carried my mark longer than yours. Your claim is invalid. I’ll take him by force if he won’t join me willingly.”

Ferdie roared and pushed Dean behind it to bare its claws at Cas. He stumbled and fell to his knees, palms scraping through the dirt and rocks as he tried to balance. They bled sluggishly, stubbornly, and it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bled for something worthwhile. For something he believed in, rather than something he just did.

The Wild Things were closing ranks around the interloper. They’d gone silent, as sure a sign as any that they meant business. Cas was dwarfed in the tightening circle – Hercules in a trench coat taking on the titans. It was gonna be a bloodbath.

Dean regained his feet (slowly, so slowly now) and picked his way through the pack to the center. “Stop it.” 

They weren’t listening. Creepy’s talons raked gouges into the dirt in anticipation. Lars’ feathers were standing on end. _Not good_.

He shoved Bouncy out of the way and stood in front of Cas, machete blocking their advance. He bared his teeth, snarling. “I said, _stop!_ ”

And, miracle of miracles, the Wild Things did. They pulled up short at the sharp edge of his blade, Bouncy fidgeting nervously behind one of the Tweedles. He felt a hand settle on his shoulder but didn’t dare turn away; their surprise at Dean’s defense was the only thing keeping them from tearing Cas apart and feasting on his glowing insides.

Ferdie’s eyes burned like hellfire in its wide face. Its thought-voice wailed in Dean’s head with furious betrayal. _**Ours.** Hunts with Us. Nasty Bitter Angel Light not take him. Little Wild One move now! _

That was the flaw with these creatures, Dean realized; that was why god went back to the drawing board – love didn’t work the same. He thought about Cas standing at his back and understood that what he’d found among the monsters wouldn’t solve his problems. It wasn’t what he was travelling down that long road looking for.

Dean looked into Ferdie’s eyes as he once did in a forest clearing, unafraid and challenging. “I don’t wear anyone’s mark, angel or not. Neither one of you can tell me what to do.” He watched the Wild Thing paw the dirt while the heat of Cas’ hand slowly sank through his jacket to where its mirror image used to be scarred into his flesh. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ferdie, but I choose my friend. I’m going with him.”

 _Ours! Nasty Bitter Angel Light will eat you up!_ Ferdie shrieked, saliva spraying from its mouth. _Angel Light can scavenge what’s left!_

The Wild Thing’s leapt as one, a charge of terrible teeth and talons. In the split second it took Dean to flinch and raise his machete Cas pulled him down with the grip on his shoulder. He tucked Dean into the curve of his body and flung the tail end of the trench over his head. He felt Cas shift and stab the angel sword into the ground between their feet.

The coat wasn’t enough to shield him from the burst of light that erupted from the soil. Clear and pure, it was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen – and then he couldn’t see anything at all, the white searing through his eyes and into the back of his skull. Something screamed, high-pitched and terrified.


	7. Chapter 7

Everything was red. For awhile after the white faded it was all he could see.

He’d always thought people were exaggerating when they said things like that, getting all poetic when they described the sunset or something, but there it was – the world was goddamned red. And not candy apple red or hot rod red. The light of the moon was _blood_ red, like the splatter on the wall when you cut a major artery. Like a pulse.

 _Was this what Pamela saw after she looked at Cas?_ he wondered. _Was this the price for beholding an angel?_

Something crumbled under his boot. Dean stumbled, crashed hard onto the ground, and bit his lip. The impact jarred a grunt out of him with the last of the air in his lungs. He could just barely see the shape of a man hovering nearby. The red light made everything seem far away, though that could have just been his eyes.

He rubbed a hand over his chin. What came off on his fingers was so dark it was almost black. _Like the leviathan_ , he thought, thoughts as sluggish as the blood dripping down his face. _Like monsters_. Dean worried at his lip a little, the torn skin fraying apart beneath his fingers. 

The man-shape pulled Dean’s hand away. The touch was warm and gentle, and Dean held onto it tightly. 

His voice was slurred, rough with exhaustion and dehydration. It was hard to string a whole sentence together. “What d’you do, Cas?” 

“Gave them a taste of their own medicine. Can you get up? We have to hurry; they won’t take your loss easily.”

Dean tried to move his legs but they were shaking too badly to hold his weight for longer than a few seconds. He swayed on his knees, arms curled tightly around his chest to hold his thumping heart inside. Something was wrong with him.

Cas’ hand was an anchor in a rocking sea, the only thing keeping him from slipping under the waves. He gripped it tightly. 

“Oh, _Dean_.” 

And then the red was swallowed by the black of unconsciousness and Dean lost the plot for awhile.

+++

Dean felt better when he woke up, for a given definition of ‘better’. His muscles ached like he’d just run a marathon and he kind of wanted to vomit, but he didn’t feel like he was dying anymore so that was an improvement.

There was a flicker of moving light on the other side of his eyelids, so he tried opening them experimentally. The world was still red but it wasn’t nearly as distracting as before. More like an alley lit with neon signs advertising all the latest in debauchery (his favorite). He could ignore it.

The light turned out to be a small fire burning quietly just a foot or so from where he lay curled on the ground. He watched it consume the twigs and sticks until it occurred to him who must’ve made their little camp in the first place.

He raised his head, carefully, and called out into the redness beyond the flames. “Cas?”

Like the devil: speak his name and he appeared. Cas came around the nearest tree with his arms full of more fuel for the fire. He dropped the branches on the ground and put a hand on Dean’s forehead. For some reason he wasn’t wearing his coat. “How are you feeling?”

Confused. Angry for no reason he could remember. “Better, I guess. How’d you make a fire, Cas? I’m all out of lighter fluid.”

“I rubbed two sticks together. It wasn’t hard; the Neanderthals had flawless technique before they began interbreeding with your species and were fazed out of existence. _You left the path_.” The last part was harsh, accusatory. Disappointed. 

“Didn’t see much point in sticking to it anymore.” Dean groaned, pressing a couple fingers hard into his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his face for good measure, expecting stubble but finding only dirt and flaky blood. Ugh. Worst hangover _ever_. “What the hell happened back there, man? Why do I feel like shit?”

“I used more energy than I anticipated keeping the pack at bay.”

“Then why aren’t _you_ sore, right now?” 

“This is a sickness of the soul, not the body. It should heal in time, though there is nothing I can do to aid the process. Their hold over you was very strong. You were drained almost dry and my interference didn’t help matters.” 

Dean didn’t think having this conversation lying on his back in the grass was a good idea. He compromised for his tired body by leaning against his elbows. And there was one mystery solved – Cas’ coat was missing because it was draped over Dean’s legs. Cas must not’ve known about Dean’s new coldblooded adaptation and tried to keep him warm. 

Dean arranged it more comfortably around his hips, tucking in the edges around his feet. No need to let a good blanket go to waste. Plus, it smelled a little like Cas and he’d die before he admitted it but he’d missed the scent of rain and ozone and grilled beef, faint as it was on him now.

Cas was looking down at the fire, ashamed. “I took too much. I’m sorry.” 

Dean must’ve missed part of the conversation while he was snuggling with Cas’ coat. “Too much of what?”

Cas looked at him, lips curling downward at the edges. “Your soul.”

His… “Say what now?” 

“Your soul.” Cas frowned, watching Dean fidget. “You remember that souls maintain transferable energy? That if a being is powerful enough then it can absorb their strength into itself? It’s how I defeated Raphael after I opened the gate to Purgatory.” Dean nodded, getting with the program as his brain slowly woke up. “Usually a person’s soul is finite. Angel’s are connected to Heaven via their grace when on earth and that strengthens us. We weren’t meant to cross into purgatory, so my energy is limited. But having a physical body keeps your soul separate from the laws of this plane and that means you can rechargeable your strength rather than combust like everyone else. It replenishes itself as long as it’s not diminished to depletion.” Cas shrugged. “This is all theory, of course. The monsters you were living with must have learned the trick of absorbing other creatures’ souls and adding to the energy of their own. It’s the only explanation for the condition I found you in.” 

Dean remembered the echoing feeling of light in his veins and hurling it away in a blast of power. Of flashbulbs between his teeth. He guessed it probably wasn’t _that_ hard to figure something like that out if he could do it. 

Wait. “Ferdie said you’d eat me up. Cas… was that… were you draining me, too?”

He nodded and ducked his head, shame settling on the curved bow of his shoulders. “I’m not proud of it. We just… spent so much time together I didn’t even know I was doing it until after we burned the Mother.” 

Jesus. Dean was the energizer bunny of the afterlife. _Can’t stop me now, I just keep going and going and going…_ “I feel like I need one of those drums to bang.”

Resolve filled Cas’ eyes and straightened his back. “I know I had no right to siphon your strength but I had to get you away from them. It was the last time, Dean, I swear. I will never pull from you again.”

Dean had heard promises like that before - from his brother about the demon blood, from himself about the booze and pills. He didn’t think it was that serious, though; it wasn’t like Cas was addicted to aura-of-Dean or anything. (At least he hoped not.) But this sponging thing could certainly turn dangerous if left unchecked. Now that Cas knew about it he could probably trust him to keep his metaphorical hands to himself.

If he could trust Cas at all. His absence during the last long leg of Dean’s trek through monster hell stuck in his craw like an irritated bug. None of it would have happened if Cas hadn’t disappeared. Not the Wild Things, not the insane wandering. Not the creeping distance he felt around his soul even now.

He couldn’t let it go without being said any longer. “You left me, Cas. You left me alone in _purgatory_.”

Cas blinked, eyebrows crinkling in the middle. He was the closest to tears Dean had ever seen him. “I’m sorry. I had to stay away until I knew I was strong enough not to hurt you. I thought it was for the best.”

“You always do.” There were other words piling up in his throat, words like _I needed you here_ and _I was so scared_ , but the only things that wanted to be said were hurtful and mean. So he chewed everything back and let the silence settle into his bones. When he thought it was safe to open his mouth he was still surprised at what managed to bully its way out. “If you left to keep me safe then why did you come back?” 

“You were in trouble.” Cas threw a stick into the fire they didn’t need, his determination to look Dean in the eye hiding somewhere far away from their camp. “I wanted to clear the path of obstructions so you could continue on in peace. I never thought you’d leave it and get lost. Or that I’d… run into complications.”

“Complications?”

“Leviathan.”

Just the thought of the Chompers was enough to piss Dean off all over again. “I was waiting for those fuckers to make an appearance. You take ‘em out?”

“As many as I could.” 

Cas had never been very good at lying to Dean. There was a story there, and likely a good one, but he was willing to let it go for the moment. There were more important things to talk about.

“How _did_ you find me, anyway? The Wild Things dragged me all over the place.”

“You shine very brightly in this realm, Dean. I never looked away.” No need to lie about that; Cas met Dean’s eye casually, as if he hadn’t just admitted to actually being the angel on his shoulder. 

Dean watched him back. He figured Cas was more like an imaginary friend than a guardian angel; Dean’s mistakes were his own to deal with but Cas had been there anyway. Even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

A spark of something warm fluttered briefly around the bronzed stone of Dean’s soul. He tamped it down, shifting uncomfortably under the torn and bloody coat. He sat up and handed it back to Cas, rubbing a hand over his scalp and shoving the hair around. Damn, but he was filthy. Cas didn’t look much better; that _was_ a beard he’d seen. “You look like shit, man. Aren’t you maintaining your vessel anymore? Jimmy’s gonna be pissed you ruined his coat.”

"Jimmy.” Cas sighed the name, stroking the lapel of the trench with his thumb. “I cannot be boundless when I am bound, Dean. I had to abandon my vessel to better navigate this plane.”

Dean was tired of playing catch-up in this conversation. “Excuse me?”

“I hid my vessel within the earth and went wandering. It was less resistant to the passage of time without my presence." Cas rubbed at his beard, self-consciously. “Purgatory appears determined to leave its mark on me any way it can and I don’t have the energy to spare to keep myself clean. It’s not like it matters, anyway.” 

"So, wait a minute, you just dropped Jimmy off in some cave somewhere and hoped for the best? Jesus Christ, Cas. How was that safer than staying with me?" 

“Jimmy’s gone, Dean, and has been for awhile. When I returned from heaven I silenced him until his spirit merged with my consciousness permanently. I needed a firmer grip on my vessel than I’d had before.” He snapped the last twig in half and fed it to the flames. “I meant what I told him after I left Claire; he would have spent thousands of years as my vessel, chased and cursed along with me. He didn’t want that, for himself or his family. So I did what I thought was right.”

Cas didn’t look like he thought that anymore. He looked miserable.

An angel grieving for the life of its host. He figured it was just another one of the ways Cas was different than his brothers. _Like being chained to a comet_ , Jimmy’d said. Dean thought it might’ve been more like a battery whose acid leaked onto the remote and corroded the circuitry. 

Michael had wanted to do that to Dean. Lucifer _had_ done it to Sam. Raphael had burned right through his meatsuit until there was nothing left. Gabriel had been wearing his for so long that people had started growing taller. Maybe Cas had chosen the lesser of two evils… but it still didn’t seem right.

Dean thought about poor Jimmy Novak, packaged and put away, absorbed into the greater form of Castiel without so much as a thank you. Like skin growing over a splinter. Poor bastard. He should have read the fine print before saying yes. Then again, that hadn’t exactly helped Sam much when _he_ became a vessel.

Dean gathered his wobbly legs beneath him and stood, looking beyond the edges of the firelight for the first time. They were in a glen like the one next to the cemetery where they’d uncovered Crowley’s bones. It was a tranquil sort of place, for all that the red light made even the trees look murderous. And nestled in the exact center of the little dip of land was a familiar, well-trod path.

He slumped. _Not this shit again_. “Cas, why is it so important that we keep following this fucking road? ‘Cause I’m getting really tired of being a sitting duck when I’m on it.”

Cas joined him, shoulder brushing Dean’s when he invaded his personal space yet again. The fire burned at their backs, stretching their dancing shadows out in front of them. “The road keeps you safe and leads us home. It’s not far now; if you feel up to it we should start moving.”

“And how do you know how far it is? Or where it’s going?”

“All roads are connected, Dean. We merely have to follow the path.”

“Enough of the existential crap, Cas. Give me a straight answer, I’m begging you. How do you _know_?”

“Because this one leads to heaven.”

It would have been a perfect spit-take if he’d been drinking something. As it was he choked on his saliva. Cas patted him helpfully on the back. “ _Heaven_? _The_ heaven?” Cas’ expression was bland, unimpressed by Dean’s inability to breathe and talk at the same time. That look clearly said _duh_. “Have you known where this thing led all this time? Were you tricking me into following you?”

Cas frowned and shook his head, offended. “I may have suspected after awhile, but I didn’t know for sure until I left you. When I abandoned my vessel I could feel the passage of grace and redemption through the conduit of the path. I wouldn’t deliberately mislead you.” The words _not again_ were clearly missing from the end of that sentence.

Dean scratched the back of his neck. He eyed the road like a horde of angels would come barreling down it any second. “Are you sure this is something we wanna do, man? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I did not enjoy my last visit to your hometown.”

“Probably because you were dead at the time.”

Dean thought about it for a full minute and it still didn’t make sense. “Okay, Haley Joel, you wanna run that by me again?”

Cas rolled his eyes, a disturbingly human gesture he used far too often. “When you and Sam were killed by those idiotic hunters your souls separated from your bodies and ascended to heaven. You experienced it as the proper plane for the state of your souls at the time. Going there in your physical body will be very different.”

Dean considered what a world meant for non-corporeal souls and _wavelengths of celestial intent_ would be like and felt a shiver curl along the back of his neck. He remembered Ash abusing the programming cheat codes of the universe and couldn’t imagine how he got away with that. What was heaven like when you took the veil away? Hell, what was _Cas_ like? “But you don’t _know_ I’ll be okay. My eyeballs could fry in their sockets like mozzarella cheese.”

Cas grimaced at the mental image. “Have faith, Dean. Your body is the true vessel of the grandest of archangels. I think you’ll be fine.”

Okay, that was Cas being sarcastic. And… oddly reassuring.

“Once we get to heaven we can contact someone with the strength to take you home like Joshua expelled you last time. Surely there’s _someone_ left who’d be willing to help. I’ll barter myself if I have to.”

Hold the phone. “What do you mean, _barter yourself_?”

Cas sighed. “I committed mass murder in the sacred fires of heaven, Dean. I decimated an already dwindling population of angels.” He looked at Dean and shrugged. “Revenge is not a purely human desire.”

He walked down the small slope toward the path, leaving the fire burning down to cinders behind him. Dean stumbled after him, lost for words.

+++

Their first steps back on the road to heaven were uneventful, the rumor having apparently traveled along the purgatory grapevine not to mess with the dudes in the seasonally inappropriate coats. Still, Dean knew better than to assume their safe passage and kept himself alert. It was hard to focus on the trees around them when he felt so shaky still, even after such a long rest, but soon he was rewarded with a rustle in the distance. He stopped dead in his tracks; Cas paused a few steps behind him.

“Dean, there’s a–“

He held up a fist – his dad’s old gesture for _shut up and stop moving_ – and listened to the forest. There were the ever-present wind in the branches, the absence of skittering wildlife… and a patter in the dead leaves caking the ground. A single footstep, quickly smothered. They were being hunted.

Dean motioned for Cas to stay still and crept into the red wilderness, placing his feet carefully against the leaf litter, paw soft. It was one of Ferdie’s lessons he actually took to heart. He tucked himself behind the trunk of a wide willow tree and waited. The drooping branches swayed ever so gently, a curtain of brown in the scarlet moonlight. 

He didn’t have to wait very long. Not five minutes after he took up his position two man-shaped monsters came into view. Dean could see them through the leaves: older styled clothes, spread out among the trees, weapons in hand. While the one in front looked human enough his companion bounced on the balls of his feet, sucking on his pointed teeth. A twitchy little vampire, eager to chow down on something’s jugular. 

He let them pass him by, instinct telling him to wait and watch. Movement nearby – a third vampire, flanking the others and flitting from tree to tree so he wouldn’t be seen. A hunter hunting the hunters.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

The sound of a scuffle in the distance drew the attention of the third vampire and Dean followed at a safe pace as he moved forward. The original two had found Cas – or maybe he’d found them? When Dean arrived Cas had already downed the twitchy vamp and was taking on the other one, his angel blade clanging dully with the vampire’s long knife.

Stalker Vamp slammed into the two from the side and knocked the other vamp to the ground. They hissed at each other like all good movie monsters did, then Stalker Vamp was swinging his arm down and lopping off the other’s head with the multi-bladed axe he carried.

Cas stood poised and ready while Stalker Vamp regained his breath. The angel blade reflected the eerie light in patterns on the ground. It was hard to look away from – so Dean pounced while the vampire was distracted, pinning his shoulders against the nearest tree before he had a chance to take a swing at Cas and his shiny sword. He slammed his arm against the wood hard to knock the axe out of his hand.

Stalker Vamp managed to rasp out a laugh despite having Dean’s forearm lodged in his neck. “Where’d you come from, hoss?” His accent was raspy and straight out of the bayou. He grunted and wiggled around a little, trying to ease Dean’s grip. Dean just pushed harder. Stalker Vamp laughed again and let his head fall back against the tree. “Peace, brother, peace. You’re just the man I’m looking for.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He looked over to where Cas was frowning at them. “You okay?”

Cas nodded, busy kicking the heads away from the bodies and off of the path. Dean turned back to Stalker Vamp. He’d been a bruiser in life, tall with a burly chest, and he wouldn’t stop smiling. “I know a way out of here, friend. A one way ticket straight back upstairs. Set me free and I’ll tell you.”

Dean smiled back, baring all his teeth in the vamp’s face. “Who says I want out?” 

The machete sliced clean through the meat of the vampire’s neck but got caught on his backbone. Dean had to yank it out and go again before the head rolled off and into the underbrush. The body had barely toppled to the ground before Dean was on it, slicing through the white shirt and into the flesh beneath it. He had to hurry or the soul would regenerate and he’d have no chance –

 _Damn_. The machete was nearly useless at this. It was practically worn down to the nub, more of a big filet knife at this point than something capable of cutting through a ribcage. He still had his bowie knife but that wasn’t much better. Stalker Vamp’s axe looked promising but it’d been built for blunt force trauma with pointy edges.

Hadn’t the other vamp been carrying something? He glanced around – _there_. A bit of volcanic black rock chipped to a wicked edge on one side and tied with leather straps to… a leg bone? Oh, _nice_. He pulled up his best Mick Dundee impression. “Now _that’s_ a knife.”

The purgatory blade slipped through Stalker Vamp’s ribs like Sammy through a salad, cracking and devastating as it went. This would work _perfectly_.

“Dean?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Cas was staring at him, wide eyed and frowning. He looked pale and upset. Maybe the fight had taken more out of him than Dean had thought?

“Sorry, Cas. You want in on this?” 

“What? No. No.” Cas shook his head, blinking. 

Whatever. Dean shrugged and went back to what he was doing. Wasn’t like Cas to be spooked by a little ol’ vampire attack. Dean would have to keep a closer eye on him than usual. 

He pushed a lung out of the way and caught the glimmer of soul between his hands. It fluttered, firefly bright and desperate against his fingers. Dean held it to his mouth and sucked it down. He worked it around in his mouth until the soul popped between his teeth, the heat of it sliding down his throat like the best whiskey ever.

Dean imagined this was how Highlander must’ve felt, only without the lightning effects: a surge of adrenaline, a warm tingle passing through his body and lingering in his toes. The world got a little brighter, edges a little more crisp. It was like being stoned… and having gristle stuck between his metaphorical teeth. Something wasn’t settling right with this particular soul. It must’ve been relatively new, just a century or so underground, but it wasn’t going down easy. 

Great, now he had heartburn. He should really learn to chew his food.

There was a noise behind him, a gagging moan, and Dean turned to find Cas hovering at his shoulder. Cas’ hand hovered in front of his mouth as if he were going to be sick. “You shouldn’t be able to do that. Where did you…” 

“Little something I picked up from Ferdie, though I didn’t know that’s what I was doing at the time.” After all, it took an angel to fill in the details. Dean was just… recharging his batteries, that’s all.

He burped, embarrassingly, and ran his tongue over his teeth. It tasted a little like really old gumbo. “Ugh, pardon me.”

Dean understood the look on Cas’ face now. It was shellshock. Devastation. It was how someone looked when their world was crumbling in front of their eyes. Sam had worn it the night Lucifer was set free and when his wall went kaput. Hell, he’d seen it on his own face in the mirror often enough to recognize it by now.

“I’m so sorry I left you alone, Dean. I can never repair the damage I – I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s smoldering heart stuttered and stopped in his chest. His body shut down around him, a hollow shell carved out of regret and distance. He banished the brimming sensations looking at Cas caused and refused to let them out of the abyss again. He made himself into a hard knot in the center of the turmoil, untouchable by it. 

He didn’t _feel_ broken, though Cas obviously thought otherwise. Dean’s face smoothed into dead blankness. The light reflecting around him faded into the same murderous red it’d been since he left the Wild Things. 

Cas clenched his jaw and stiffened his posture – that was his _determined to fix it_ face. In Dean’s experience that particular expression never led to anything good.

“We need to get you out of purgatory as soon as possible. Come on.” Cas grabbed on his arm and walked away from the empty corpse, leaving Dean no choice but to follow. He held onto him until the three vampire bodies faded from sight and the path was the only thing around them for miles.

+++

There was a tune stuck in Dean’s head, a song without words. It made him want to whistle as he walked, like some damn Disney dwarf.

The blood on his hands grew tacky as it dried. It was a distant kind of itch, creeping at the back of his conscious until it was all he could think about. After a hunt Ferdie and the Wild Things had always groomed each other, sometimes including Dean, sometimes not. He wasn’t about to lick himself clean – not in front of Cas, anyway – but he desperately needed a bath. He was pretty sure he was covered head to toe in vampire blood like something out of a slasher movie. (He realized this would have been a problem had he been in the real world or more than passingly acquainted with his body. Could a person be turned into a vampire in vampire hell?)

He scrubbed his hands over his head and then shook it out. Powdery blood fell around him like a cloud of Kool-Aid. Dean snickered at the thought of a giant pitcher jumping out of a tree and breaking shit up. “ _Oh, yeah!_ ”

Cas gave him the side-eye. Dean was going to have to get used to walking around with someone else again. He ducked his head and hoped the awkwardness would pass quickly.

Cas cleared his throat. “So. That vampire you killed…”

Dean jumped on the subject change, grateful Cas wasn’t going to mention his momentary flub. “Yeah, what was with that guy, anyway? _I know a way out of here, friend._ Whatever. Like we were gonna buy that.”

“You told him you didn’t want to leave.”

Had he said that? He was pretty sure it was just macho talk, the kind of one-liners he usually thought of after the fighting was over but wished he’d said. Still there might’ve been a kernel of truth there. “It’s not like I _want_ to be here. It’s _purgatory_ , I don’t think anybody wants to be here.” He shrugged, uncomfortable. “I dunno. Maybe we really are dead, you ever think about that? Maybe Dick blew us up and we deserve to be here, after all.” 

Cas rolled his eyes so hard his whole head tilted with the motion. He sounded frustrated, as if they’d had this discussion more than once already. “You are not a monster, Dean. And you _aren’t_ dead. I’d have known it if you’d died.”

“Not if you were dying at the same time.”

He stopped and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, forcing him to make eye contact. “I would know because I’ve invested more in you than any other creature in the history of the universe! I grew your body from nothing but dust and the remnants of your fingernails. I held your bleeding soul in my hands and breathed it back to life again. And after that I fought with you, back to back against the worst this world or any other could fathom. I would know you if I were struck blind and lost in a sea of humanity. _I know you._ ” 

The echoes of Cas’ shouting bounced back to them through the silence. Somewhere a bird (or something like a bird) took wing. Dean envied its freedom for a second. 

“And this is _not you_ , Dean. This place is changing you… and it’s destroying me.”

Dean rubbed his dirty hands over the back of his neck, grinding the blood into his skin. “That sounds like something out of a storybook, Cas.”

“Maybe so. Does that make it any less true?”

Dean mulled it over, watching the big round moon hover above them, nebulas rising and dying the whole sky over. He nodded to himself. When he finally spoke it was hushed and hesitant. Why did all his confessions happen at the roadside? “You’re right. You’re right, I admit it. I don’t – I don’t _feel_ like myself. I don’t feel _real_. I barely feel anything.” All those years of wishing he was numb… It was true what they said: be careful what you wish for.

Cas was just as quiet now that the tension between them had broken. Neither of them seemed capable of looking at the other anymore. “I felt something like that when I first entered my vessel. A disconnection. Like you’re drifting from who you think you are. It will get better, Dean, as soon as we return you to your rightful place. I’m sure of it. We just… have to keep going.”

And so they did.

+++

Cas and Dean traveled along the path until the sun rose again, pushing the blood red moon back behind the tree line. It started as a pale orange glow on the horizon that it suddenly burst bright and clean across the sky. It was the first true dawn in Dean’s remembrance, all the others in his life before the Roman Candle meaningless and ashen in comparison. The woods around them went quiet for an eerie moment before a new chorus of creatures took up the helm. It seemed as good a time as any to stop for a moment of rest.

And Dean found that he needed it. The daylight seared at his tender eyes like he’d gone nocturnal during the long night. He hunkered into the high collar of his jacket and yearned for a bit of shade. The last hint of gumbo was gone from his breath, too. He was weary and worn but found himself actually hoping one of the day-monsters would attack so he could–

Christ. So he could _feed_.

He squinted over to where Cas sat on the ground, his dirty coat huddled around his knees even though Dean knew he couldn’t possibly be cold. Dean remembered when the flimsy thing washed ashore after he’d released the souls back into purgatory and the leviathans corroded through the meat of Cas’ vessel. How he’d kept the trench hidden in the trunk those long months before he found him again. 

Christ _fuck_. Perspective was a bitch.

Dean’s body soaked up the sun but he couldn’t feel any of its heat. He thought desperately about the warmth of the souls he’d taken, the illusion of a large furry body pressed against his – a nightmare creature’s heartbeat nestled close under his ear. And he thought about Cas, forever walking ahead of him on the path, trapped in a meatsuit just the same as him. Jimmy Novak’s heart pounding down eternity with Cas’ grace burning inside its veins. The only other _physical_ thing in this whole godforsaken place. 

He shifted closer to Cas. Their thighs brushed and Dean wondered exactly how warm it was under the thin coat. Cas had honest to god _body heat_ , it had to be warmer than that fake sun. Did Cas miss the heat like he did? Or was it different for him, vessel-bound as he was and had been for years? 

When was the last time either of them were touched with kindness? Dean barely remembered what that felt like. He wasn’t sure if Cas ever knew.

It was a matter of seconds to pry Cas’ hand from his knee and hold it lightly in his own. Their palms lined up, easy as the wind through the leaves, and Dean threaded their fingers together. He saw Cas twitch out of the corner of his eye. Tension bloomed from Cas’ shoulder to where their skin pressed together but Dean ignored it in favor of studying the hand in his. Somehow he’d expected their calluses would match; knife and sword work was similar, wasn’t it? Then he remembered Jimmy Novak had been a salesman and had no reason to gain the hard edges of a soldier. He wondered if he looked deep enough into Cas’ eyes he’d be able to see the roughness worn into his grace instead.

“Dean?”

It wasn’t working. He still couldn’t _feel_ anything. He knew he was holding Cas’ hand, was aware of its weight and dimension but that was it. The chasm inside was too wide, too great for the sensations to get through. He couldn’t go on like this.

He closed his eyes and focused on the bronze shell of _Dean_ he’d hardened and buried inside himself. He picked at it, carefully, imagining paper-thin cracks peppering the surface. Not enough to relieve the pressure. Not enough to bring the whole construct crashing down. But enough so a little light spilled through, caressing and curling around his skin from the inside out, encouraging long dead nerves into wakefulness.

 _There_. A sudden blossom of heat against his palm and then the _texture_ of it overwhelmed him. God, he _had_ forgotten how another person’s skin felt against his, the soft friction of it. He rubbed his thumb over Cas’ knuckle, back and forth, feeling the skin slide over the delicate bird-bones of Jimmy’s hand. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the motion carry his thoughts away with it. 

His trailing thumb was interrupted on its path by a heavy pressure; Cas thumb trapping his own in a powerful grip. He became aware that Cas was shaking, too, their touch the only thing keeping him from bolting straight out of his skin. 

A pressure valve burst in Dean’s brain, a fire hydrant left too long under the sun released onto a dirty sidewalk. He leaned over, tucking his body into Cas’, hiding his face against Cas’ stomach and holding his hip with the arm not already clutching him tight. He shifted his legs to the side so his entire being was curled around his friend’s, left hand crushed between them when he refused to let go. 

There was a gasp above him – a sharp intake of breath into a body that didn’t (technically) even need to breathe. 

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, burrowing in as close as he could. He pressed his hot cheek against Cas’ belly, the belt buckle digging into his chest until it was hard to breathe. Then, only then did the words come grinding out of his throat, pushed into the soft cotton of Cas’ dress shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you, Cas. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me for help and I’m sorry for the ring of fire and not keeping Sam from stabbing you in the back. I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to be who you think I am anymore. I’m so damn _sorry_.”

Cas collapsed against him, the tension flooding out of his body as if he finally understood how hugs were meant to work. He held his other arm around Dean’s shoulders and tucked his face into the vulnerable space on Dean’s neck behind the collar of his jacket, breath stirring the hair there. The trench coat lifted and stretched when Cas moved, cocooning Dean in a warm darkness that smelled of ozone and cologne, man-sweat and static electricity. Like a Laundromat with all the driers going at once. It smelled like _home_ and _Castiel_ and made his eyes burn.

He took a deep breath of that smell. It got caught in his throat on the sob he was trying to rein in. “Don’t you ever leave me again, Cas. Don’t you dare.”

Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s neck and rested his cheek against Dean’s dirty hair. “Never again. I swear on everything I hold sacred I will never forsake you again.”

And then Dean was crying, huge gasping sobs like he’d never allowed himself before. They wrenched out of him like they were being exorcised from his body, leaving him shaking and empty. Cas just held him tighter, rocking them slowly back and forth, hand stroking along Dean’s spine in rhythm with the movement of his thumb over Dean’s, still crushed between their bodies.

They stayed there undisturbed, Dean howling his misery into the bright dawn, until Cas’ shirt was soaked through and Dean had no more strength to weep. It wasn’t until after they rose to their feet and Dean attempted to marshal the remnants of his dignity that he realized there were tears on Cas’ face, too. Cas pulled the angel card and pretended like he was too aloof to produce such petty things as emotions, but Dean knew they were there all the same. He’d seen him touch the moisture on his cheek, surprised and frowning. He wiped his sleeve over his eyes hastily when he caught Dean staring.


	8. Chapter 8

It seemed that purgatory was on their side for the moment, the weak sun peaking in the sky and refusing to budge any further. It made Dean squint for the longest time; his eyesight was probably going to be fucked for awhile. Maybe he should wear an eye patch so one eye was ready for the dark and the other for the daylight, like in that Mythbusters pirate episode.

After Dean’s breakdown (which he never wanted to talk about again, _thank you_ ) he and Cas walked side by side when the path allowed, holding hands like children abandoned in the forest by their parents. It seemed silly to stay apart after that first barrier of touch was broken, not when the illusion of safety and comfort was literally within their grasp. He supposed the handholding made it easier to sneak up on them – any restriction of movement was bad during an ambush attack – but Dean didn’t really care. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to see them aside from the occasional fugly under-the-bed. 

And that was strange, too: Dean could hear the monsters around them in the bushes and trees, see traces of their passing, but after the rush of Stalker Vamp’s attack they were given a wide berth by all the creepy crawlies. It might have been the determined angel next to him, or the wicked rock blade in his unoccupied hand, or even some sixth sense that told the monsters he and Cas were not to be fucked with.

Or it might have been something else entirely. After all, it was rather conceited to think the whole world revolved around them (even though most of the time it certainly seemed to).

The forest around them started to change, as it did from time to time, the trees spreading out and the bushes thinning. The daylight made everything seem pale and grey, the greens and browns bursting into a variety of shades he hadn’t seen in ages. Honestly, Dean barely noticed purgatory’s costume changes anymore and wouldn’t have noticed this one except that Cas stopped in his tracks, alert like a hunting dog catching a scent. Since Dean was holding his hand at the time – and fuck _you_ very much, Dean’s brain, it wasn’t girly or stupid – he stopped, too.

Cas squinted into the whispering trees to the left of the road. “There’s something ahead of us. It’s not on the path or headed this way but it’s aware of our presence. Something big.” He squinted, frowning, then nodded. “You should investigate.”

Dean shook his head, tugging on Cas’ hand. “Uh, no. The last time I went walkabout away from this thing I wound up catching rides from a Sendak reject. Whatever creepy crawly has your attention it can come attack us like a man…ster. Monster. Whatever, you know what I mean.”

“It’s very bright. Can’t you feel it?” Cas tilted his head, like he was tuning in to a fuzzy radio channel. He looked like the RCA dog. 

“The only thing I feel is your sweaty palm. Come on, dude.” He tugged again; Cas wouldn’t be moved.

“It’s not evil, Dean, I can tell. I think it wants to talk to us. To _you_ , specifically. I think it can help. You should go find it.” 

“Not evil - are you _insane_? We finally get a break in the ‘Land of the Lost’ and you want me to wander off in the middle of some unknown’s territory to make chit chat? Fuck that.”

“ _Dean_.” Cas grabbed Dean’s head between his hands, stopping his outburst the quickest way possible and forcing him to look him in the eye. His fingers curled in the hair behind his ears. Dean blinked, absorbed once again in the feeling of Cas’ thumbs grazing his temples. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the simple grace of being touched. “There is some good here, Dean, we’ve seen it. Remember my oath? I swear I will not abandon you again.”

Dean’s breath stuttered; it seemed his body thought it was important to keep bringing in the scent of his angel, so breathing was essential again. It had been a poor joke - Cas’ palms weren’t sweaty at all. 

“This creature doesn’t want me near it but I’ll be watching closely and will come if you need me. I believe this can help us. Do you trust me?”

And there was the million dollar question right there. Dean blinked again, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, Cas. ‘Course I trust you.”

“Then do this for me. I’ll be waiting here to guide you back to the path.”

Against his better judgment Dean allowed Cas to step away from his desperate grip and went into the woods alone.

+++

It was strange to be on his own again. The hackles on his neck rose for the first time in ages, though there weren’t any warning signs something was waiting to pounce on him. There _was_ something different about this part of the woods. It was the opposite of a sound, an expectant silence. A flavor to the not-air that put Dean on high alert and made his heart – that unreliable organ - pound double-time in his chest. It was a lot like when he’d found the siren’s lair though there was a different type of tension at work.

It was the feeling of small watchful animals waiting for a predator to leave their patch of forest behind.

The trees slowly bloomed around him, their heavy white buds sagging on the twisted branches until the petals made a soft carpet on the grass under his worn boots. Had he been able to smell them properly, Dean was sure he’d be sneezing from the heavy perfume of pollen floating in the air. The pale sun made the white and purple of the blossoms shimmer like a mirage.

He passed under a particularly gnarled tree to find a clearing filled to bursting with blue flowers. Large bulbs the exact shade of the sky bounced softly in the breeze, their centers a pale cream. The whole place was surreal. There weren’t squirrels or deer or any small game to be wary of him. Flowers didn’t grow in purgatory. _Nothing_ grew there, not the trees, not the monsters, not _anything_. Static permanency was the nature of this place.

And yet there was sun and flowers and little living things. (There had been day before, but nothing like this. Nothing like _summer_.) It drew Dean out of the trees and into the clearing, almost against his will. 

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye had him raising the rock blade to slice through the air behind him. The creature trembled, so small it was buffeted off its original course by the rush of breath Dean released at the sight of it. He almost missed it in the brilliance of the blooms around him. 

A butterfly drifted lazily along the arch of the blade, so close Dean could see the delicate velvet of its wings. It fluttered in front of him for a moment as if sizing up his mettle and then flew over his shoulder. Dean held very still, not wanting to startle the tiny unlikely creature. He swore he could hear a faint hum as it dithered by his ear – almost as if the little thing were singing as it wandered.

It bounded playfully across the clearing to land on a pale twisted branch rising out of the lavender bushes. It pumped its wings once, softly, and then the branch shook. Dean’s heart stopped. _Not a branch not a branch holy fuck –_

The beast had been standing so still he’d looked right past it at first. The butterfly, dislodged from its perch, fluttered its merry way along the animal’s horn, down its silver-white mane, and back into the woods where it disappeared.

“No. Freaking. Way.” This was no monster out of a children’s drawing. And Dean was pretty damn sure rainbows didn’t shoot out of its ass, either.

 _This_ unicorn didn’t look anything like a horse, or even a goat or a deer. It was its own creature, terrifying in its stillness and pure beauty. It stepped out of the bushes and into the clearing where Dean stood rooted to the spot, images of impaled fathers and bloody billboards romping through his mind. It – _she_ , Dean somehow knew it was a she – stopped a few feet away and took a deep breath full of the scent of him. She sighed, sweet as bells on the wind, and shook her neat mane. 

_Do not be afraid, Dean Winchester. I will not harm you so long as you do not touch me without my permission._ The unicorn’s voice shimmied past his ears and lodged deep in his brain. It didn’t echo as badly as the Wild Things voices had; the knowledge of her speech settled upon him as if it’d always been there. _I am curious what a human is doing hunting in my wood. I’ve not spoken to one in a very long time._

“And how is it that you _can_ speak to me? Why do all you nasties get a free pass into my head?”

_The language of my race is extinct and meticulous, far beyond what your mortal being can grasp even in this realm of strangeness. But the minds of men are fragile and easily manipulated if you know what you’re doing._

“Hey! I’m not _fragile_ , sister.” 

The unicorn turned her neck until she was looking at him from the side, as regal as any royalty. He felt instantly remorseful for his rudeness. Her eyes were the same deep darkness found between the stars. He didn’t dare look into them too closely, afraid he’d fall and be lost forever. 

He mumbled an apology and ducked his head. She whinnied, a hint of humor creeping through the connection between them. _Well, you proved my point if nothing else. It appears men are still just as irreverent as they always were._

The tone of her voice shifted, gaining depth and density until it dropped heavily into his thoughts. _I bring warning: You walk a dangerous path, Dean Winchester. It is one I traveled myself, a long while ago. You must beware the Red Bull._

“The Red Bull?” Dean blinked. At first he thought she meant Ferdie… but the Wild Thing’s fur had been a calico brown, not red. "Um. The energy drink?"

The unicorn made a small noise in her throat and tilted her head. _I have no idea what that means but I feel as if I should be insulted. Mankind has gotten strange since I left it. You've never been very bright as a whole but now you make no sense at all._

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes. It was worse than talking to Cas.

She stomped a cloven hoof, leaving a deep gouge in the flowers. The forest shifted behind her, threateningly, shadows looming in places shadows shouldn’t be. _Show a little respect, human. I will allow your impertinence once and once only. I have guarded this forest since before your grandmother’s mother’s mother knew to come in from the rain. Do not mock me._

He held up his hands, palms out, trying to appear as respectful and inoffensive as possible. He’d never been very good at that. “I’m sorry, sorry. It’s just… I’m confused, that’s all.”

She snickered, bobbing her head. _Eternity will do that, I suppose. It drains us of our hopes and thoughts and leaves us shadows of what we were._ She shook her mane again, snorting, and the light shifted back to the muted glow bouncing off of the petals around her. _Time and forgetfulness are your enemies. They lend themselves to the death of spirit. It is this death you court. I have seen it many times since my heart met the sword of one like you_. 

Something flashed in her liquid-dark eyes. The voice in his head softened until it was nothing more than a sorrowful whisper on his heart. _You remind me someone I knew, a long time ago. He was a dangerous fool, too. I miss him._

_Seeing you helps me remember… and for that I am grateful. I will grant your request._

A bloodcurdling shriek echoed around the glade; it took Dean the few seconds he used to cover his ears to realize it came from the unicorn’s mouth. She bayed, raised up onto her back legs – and then she was charging, faster than Dean could run away, and the wicked sharp tip of her horn pierced his chest.

It hurt, terribly so. The nerves in his body lit up like he’d landed in a puddle of cold water and electrocuted himself alongside the monster. He felt it in his throat, the terrible mix of leftover phoenix ash and whiskey he’d downed as a last resort. The slice of a blade in his arm and the coppery smell of fresh blood seeping through the air. The crumble of crossroads dirt under his fingernails.

The pressure of her horn was every stupid thing he’d ever done in the name of a hunt, every time he’d damaged himself for something bigger. It drove him to the limits of his perception and pushed him over into _somewhere else_.

He fell. 

His body blazed lava-hot and fiery, consuming the numbness with blistering aggression. The cracked surface of his soul shattered and burst apart. The power surged through him until it was too big, too much, and fell back in upon itself – a supernova collapsing. His awareness narrowed down to the vacuum in his chest, a single point of stubborn contact with the universe. 

( _a heavy weight gone negligible over time, the tap of warm metal – bronze, it was **bronze** – against his sternum – the same place, she’d touched him the same place where it used to hang_ )

For the briefest of moments, the tiniest spec of suspended time, Dean tasted cherry pie. 

He choked in a breath, hands flying to his chest, expecting to find a gaping hole beyond even supernatural healing‘s capacity to repair. It was smooth and perfect, the same as always – his shirt didn’t even have any marks.

Dean sat there, breathing, feeling each compulsory contraction of his lungs. He felt solid, like a door had been closed to keep the echo in. The hard knot he’d tied himself into was gone, cut right through the middle. Instead he lived in the space beneath his skin again, filling in the borders of his body. He concentrated, focusing on the strength he knew was inside… and felt it there, brimming, waiting, at his command.

He opened his eyes to find the unicorn a safe distance away, politely chewing on a tuft of flowers and ignoring Dean rather pointedly. “What the hell did you do to me?”

_Healed you. As much as I could, anyway. It’s not perfect but it is a start. You’re welcome._

“What do you mean you _healed me_? There wasn’t anything wrong with me!”

She raised her head, a blade of grass grinding between her blunt teeth. The expression would have been a little like a smile if her face had been meant for that. _Oh, there’s more wrong with you than even **I** can fix, silly boy. I’d wager you’ve always known it, too, so don’t play dumb now. _

He rubbed his chest again, feeling the phantom ache of where she’d touched him. “I didn’t _request_ this. I didn’t ask you for anything.”

 _Of course you didn’t. And if you had I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not for the asking._ She bowed her head, shifting her eyes the way Dean had come through the forest to her clearing. _**He** did, though, if you must know. Ask. For this and your safe return. _

His brain stubbornly refused to start up again from the jolt of whatever mojo she’d worked on him. “ _He?_ What – Cas asked for you to fix me?”

She raised her grand head to scent the edge of the clearing where the lilac trees blew gently in the breeze. _He glows very brightly, your angel, waiting for your return. Like a lighthouse. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?_

Dean sputtered like a fish out of water.

_You’ve changed him. He’s different than the rest of his kind and will be forever more. Knowing you has given him the strength to embrace that. Of all the angels who’ve ever been, he was the first of his station to put faith in something other than what he was told. In you. That faith will destroy him, one day._

The unicorn read them so easily. He wanted to protest that he hadn’t changed Cas, that she had it all wrong, but in his heart Dean knew she was right. All this time he’d been guilty and terrified that he’d ruined something good in Cas, that everything bad that’d happened to him was all Dean’s fault. (Real or not, he still remembered pill bottles and guns and the end of everything.) He’d been worried about corrupting Cas without even knowing he had been. 

He watched the unicorn’s glowing brightness, so different than the gloom he’d known for so long. “But how can you be _sure_? How do you _know_ it will?”

 _Because I **am** him. And it destroyed me. _ Petals fell from the trees in a wave of sorrow to settle wearily in the grass. The world dimmed as if a great cloud had passed over the sun. 

Dean watched the effect the unicorn’s sadness had over the world around her and saw again how tied to this part of purgatory she was. How it was her presence that encouraged living things to linger in a place meant for the unmoving dead. He realized that though there couldn’t be life after destruction… there might be a chance for new growth instead. A sapling rising up through the ash of the woods, stronger for the fire that razed its predecessors.

The unicorn turned her pale body away from him, back toward the safety of her glen and the lilac trees. _Remember what we spoke of today, hunter, and go away now. Leave my forest behind._

“I will, thank you, I just…” Dean looked around at the clearing at the trees beyond it, feeling strangely bereft and alone again. There was no sign of his entry, no beacon to point the way; everything looked the same to him. “I can’t see the way back to my friend.”

She shook out her mane and stared into the distance beyond Dean’s shoulder. The great beast huffed a sigh and skirted around him delicately, flicking her tail in his direction. _All right. I will take you back to your angel and grant you safe passage as far as I am able. One last boon, for old times’ sake._

They walked side by side back the way he’d come, following some trail Dean couldn’t see. His fingers ached to stroke the unicorn’s soft pelt - just a few inches out of reach - but he curled them into fists instead. He didn’t have permission and after what happened last time any part of her touched him Dean knew not to press his luck.

For her part she ignored his furtive looks and did not speak. Dean got the impression she was lost in her own thoughts.

Soon the road appeared ahead of them, the tan of Cas’ torn trench coat shining in the sun. When he saw the beast escorting Dean through the flowering trees Cas bowed his head briefly; one monarch greeting another. The unicorn bobbed her head and shook her mane, squinting in his direction. _I return him to you, unharmed, as promised._

“Thank you. For your hospitality and your patience.” 

The unicorn pawed the ground a bit, restless, uncertain. She spoke in a rush, as though in a hurry to depart. _Go with grace, Castiel, and may your choices fare you better than mine. Beware the Red Bull._ Then she ran, a streak of starlight in the bright day, a wisp of a memory gone in a breath. Blue and white petals drifted in her wake.

Dean and Cas watched her go. It felt as though she took something of theirs with her when she left - some cold immeasurable thing settled on their shoulders with her absence. Dean was sure nothing would ever be beautiful again.

"The Red Bull. She’d said that once before, Cas. We're not gonna run into one of those things are we?"

Cas blinked, as if a waking up from a restless sleep. He shook his head, precise and controlled. "No, it’s just a metaphor. The Red Bull isn't real."

"Then what’s it mean?" The unicorn had told him that _time and forgetfulness were his enemies_ , but he didn’t think Cas knew how to forget anything and every angel Dean ever met seemed to keep time in their back pockets.

Cas shook his head, slowly, watching the space where the unicorn had disappeared into the trees. “The Red Bull is love. It’s blind, and it runs down anyone foolish enough to stand in its way.”

+++

The road rose steadily uphill under their feet. Dean and Cas followed it until Dean’s knees crumpled under the weight of his thoughts and he couldn’t make them move forward any further. He sat quietly on the path, butt in the dirt and feet pointing at the sky. It had whittled down to the barest hint of a game trail and the forest loomed large on either side.

He was aware of Cas taking up space behind him and of the wind whistling through the lilac trees above but found his thoughts too powerful a distraction to really care. He thought about angels and unicorns, warnings and weapons. He thought about what home was and whether or not he should return there. 

And then he started to talk.

“I’ve always known there were monsters loose in the world. It was something that… it wasn’t a surprise, you know? If something bad could happen to Mom, and our house, and all my toys - and make Dad so sad all the time - then there must be evil out there. When Dad told me about it I knew he was telling the truth. I don’t think I understood about lies until kids at school started asking why Sammy and me were different from the other families, why we didn’t have a mommy. I couldn’t tell them the truth, so I made up stuff.”

Cas slumped into the dirt next to Dean, sighing deeply, his shoulders drooping. He didn’t say anything, just settled in to listen like Dean was telling him stories again. Cas didn’t reach out to hold his hand but he did press their knees together in undemanding companionship. His silent presence gave Dean the courage to keep going. 

“When Sam found out the monsters were real… It was all new to him, then. Like he was on an adventure or something. Everything could be possible, every story he’d read about could actually happen. If werewolves and ghosts were real then why not the tooth fairy, or Santa Claus? What about opening doors to Narnia? _Could we try, Dean_ , he used to say, _just this once_?” Dean watched the swaying flowers bobbing in the breeze. He took a deep breath before slowly letting it out through his mouth. “Sammy believed in happy endings until the demons took Jess. I think he still does, deep inside.” 

He rubbed his eyes, chasing away the moisture gathered there. “I ain’t the hero of this story, Cas; I know my ending’s gonna be bloody and sad. But…” The words left him, dried up in his throat, and he looked out at the desolation of purgatory creeping under the blossoms like makeup on a corpse. He swallowed, wishing for the remembered taste of whiskey sloshing in his flask. Wishing it would make a difference. “God, Cas. I don’t want it to end like this.”

Cas remained silent for awhile, eventually lifting a cautious hand to Dean’s shoulder. It rested there, heavy through all of Dean’s layers. He squinted into the sun, expression familiar and contemplative. “If we’ve done our jobs right then the world moves on without us. There are no endings because nothing ever ends. The stories just… change after awhile.”

Dean snorted, sad for reasons he couldn’t name. “And what happens to the characters when the reader closes the book? We’re in a story, too, Cas, or did you forget? Chuck stopped writing the Winchester Gospels ages ago.”

Cas nodded and pulled his hand back, clasping it loosely in his lap with the other one. “And like I said then: we’re making it up as we go.”

The breath left Dean in something between a sigh and a sob. He felt his face crumble – only for a moment – and he rescued Cas’ hand from where it’d wandered away to hold it tightly in his own. 

He remembered that day very clearly: Chuck’s dirty apartment, the archangels bearing down on them, Cas determined and shining with it. He’d helped Dean before, pointed him in the right direction a few times, but that was the first moment Dean realized how far he was willing to go for what he knew was right. He saw the strength at the heart of him that day. Cas had been so… so fucking _grand_ standing up to their destiny that way.

It still took Dean’s breath away just thinking about it. 

“Cas. The unicorn said… she said love was gonna destroy you.”

“Dean.” He tugged on their joined hands, turning Dean so they could look at each other. They were so close Dean could count Cas’ eyelashes. "Of course I love you. Was there ever any doubt?” He said it casually, as if he’d come to the conclusion ages ago and didn’t see anything remarkable about it anymore, if ever. The corner of his mouth dented inward, that trying-too-hard-to-get-the-joke grin. “I don’t bend the laws of heaven and earth for just anyone, you know."

And there it was, the elephant in the room, the source of all the tension between them when they touched. He’d known Cas loved him; he’d have been a fool not to figure it out before now. And of course Dean loved him back. They just never talked about it. It wasn’t like everyone else thought, though, all those demons and angels assuming they were boyfriends or something. It was just… hard to see the edges of something so big.

It wasn’t like with Sam. His love for Sam was buried deep inside his gut, as necessary as breathing used to be. Their love was like oxygen. There wasn’t any choice in the matter. John and Mary had been the same. Bobby, too, for all his faults. But Cas…

Cas was so different than Dean, a glowing ball of contradictions wrapped in a trench coat. He’d seen everything, was eons old but still experiencing human stuff for the first time. He was like a kid with a bomb in his backpack, or the Hulk; a force of nature that told bad jokes. He was passion and repression, guilt and the early stirrings of laughter. He smelled like ozone and hamburgers. 

And god, he was _glorious_. He was the hint of something remarkable in the set of his vessel’s shoulders, the shadows that lived in the thin skin under his eyes. A radiant burning presence in the joints of his hand, the muscles of his legs. Cas’ passage through the air was what created the ramshackle mountain range in Jimmy’s hair. 

His effect on Dean was just as strong, almost as if he’d been living inside _Dean_ , too. Being around Cas made his shoulders tense, his stomach tie itself into origami, his hands drop things. He made him smile and sigh and hope for something better and want what he already had. Cas made him want _anything_. He made him—

He made him _want_. 

Oh, hell. Fucking… fucking hell.

Dean loved Castiel. Not just loved him but _loved_ him. Like with the flowers and the candy and the throwing up and the _feelings_ and the never-wanting-to-be-apart. Like he was crazy, head over heels for the guy. Only Cas wasn’t a guy, he was just squatting in one and that messed with Dean’s head all over again. And messed with his body, too, because he could feel the meatsuit around himself again, a struck bell trembling, and he was sitting so close to Cas that he was breathing in what Cas was breathing out. 

Cas’ lips were chapped again, like they were when they’d first met. Only he and Cas had known each other before that time in the barn, hadn’t they? They’d traveled so far together it was hard to remember where the road began.

(And if he loved Castiel, then shouldn’t he _love_ him? Properly, and with everything he had?)

Dean kind of wanted to bite those chapped lips, feel the loose skin tear off between his teeth and lick the salt that came after. And he kinda wanted to get Cas some chapstick, too. 

Damn, but he was one fucked up Winchester.

“Dean?” Some of his thoughts must’ve showed on his face because Dean could see the whites in Cas’ eyes like when they’d visited that whorehouse years ago, though there wasn’t any fear lurking in them this time. Instead Cas looked surprised and nervous and unsure, as if he’d tipped the balance on some scales very carefully tended. 

The little line appeared between Cas’ eyebrows and what it did to Dean’s heart was too much, too terrifying, too encompassing for him to be alone with his thoughts any longer. He silenced his mind by closing his eyes and brushing their mouths together, the lightest touch he could manage and still feel the shock of pressure against nerves long atrophied. Cas gasped against him and it melted into a proper kiss, full of stubble and dry lips getting moist. They leaned impossibly closer to each other, stiff in the neck and jaws working, just enough give and take to make Dean’s eyes water. It was… 

Well. Kissing Cas felt heavenly. He wasn’t sure what else he’d expected.

Then Cas pulled away with a choked out “ _no_ ” and it felt like falling from somewhere high. Like being pushed.

“Right, sorry. Sorry. I know that’s – sorry. I haven’t brushed my teeth in awhile and you don’t – sorry.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut harder, his breath stuttering. What had he been thinking? He untangled his fingers from where they’d wandered to the back of Cas’ head, stroking through his hair completely without Dean’s permission.

Cas stopped him from withdrawing further, pressing Dean’s palm to his hairy cheek. His other hand cupped Dean’s neck and his thumb settled in the soft dip behind his ear. Slowly, ever so slowly, he tipped their foreheads together until they were leaning on one another, noses bumping. Dean opened his mouth – a sigh, an invitation, a word – but Cas beat him to it.

His voice was softer than usual, an intimate murmur Dean wouldn’t have heard if they weren’t pressed so close. “I’m not a sexual being by nature, Dean. I’ve done it before and it’s been pleasurable but... Being with you would be different than being with someone else. You identify as male, for one, much more so than I do, and I know how conflicted you feel about that. And second… it’s _you_. If we do this it could ruin everything.” 

And then Dean was thinking about what _doing this_ meant and how he was talking about more than kissing, about _having sex_ and it was really hard to respect the millimeters Cas had forced between their mouths.

God, he wanted to feel that too, to feel Cas around him and over him and beneath him, and any combination of those he could get. Maybe even wanted to… Cas could be _in_ him, a part of him, and he’d never thought that was appealing before but god _damn_ it was now. His mouth was watering with the want of it, lips quivering, trying to make himself ask for it but just not able to.

Cas gasped in a breath, lightly thumping their foreheads together. He turned his head a little so that his mouth pressed into Dean’s wrist. His voice was muffled, his wet lips and the hint of teeth scraping over the thin skin above the veins there. “I want to be with you, Dean, however you’ll have me. I never thought you’d want something like this. That _I_ would. It’s… overwhelming. I need some time to think about it. Don’t you?”

The yearning pinged around inside Dean, bouncing off his ribs and fluttering against the underside of his skin (like a butterfly in the breeze). He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it, in lieu of biting Cas’. The tiny jolt of simple pain sparked through him, bringing a little bit of clarity with it.

Cas was an _angel_ living inside a _guy_. Did he have the right to ask Cas for any kind of – he hesitated to even think the words in his own head – _physical relationship_ when they weren’t even the same species? How different would he feel if this were happening anywhere besides purgatory and the weird disconnect between his soul and his body? Was it the right thing to try and make this work? 

They weren’t saying _no_ to each other, just… _not yet_.

Dean sighed and nodded, his forehead rubbing gritty against Cas’ with the movement. 

They stayed slumped together in the dirt of the path until the sun finally set in a riot of color. They parted when the hunter’s moon rose again, the mobius of their bodies sore and stretching, working blood back into tired muscles and listening to the night-creatures waking around them. When they were ready it was Dean that led the way down the road.


	9. Chapter 9

Whether it was because of the unicorn’s influence or Cas and Dean’s general badassery they were left alone after that, walking unopposed through the bowels of purgatory. The landscape changed again; the trees became more uniform and rigid, less natural and more… manufactured. Then they grew fewer and far between. The grass disappeared entirely, revealing hard dirt and dark rocks. 

Eventually they reached the end of the tree line – a miracle, and one Dean had thought would feel more victorious. Instead it was creepy, an open plain with nothing but space around them and nowhere to hide. The sky was black with smoke and heavy with the scent of the sea. Dean could see the glow of fire on the horizon, faint and hazy. 

The ground dropped away on either side of them and the ocean rose to meet the road, the dirt growing hard and crisp under their feet, twisting into strange billowy shapes. The black rock boiled and simmered just under the surface, melting and pouring over the edge into nothing. Large pieces crumbled around the edges and fell, the waves crashing upward into the gaping wounds of the earth. They hit the sea with a god-awful hiss, sending up plumes of acrid smoke.

It got harder and harder to breathe the further toward the edge they went, so they stopped breathing all together. Each step ran the risk of breaking through the barely-hardened lava flow so they were careful to place their feet carefully and only on the darkest stone. A particularly large wave crashed into the shore and Dean took Cas’ hand again so as not to lose him in the steam.

Dean was pretty sure the heat would have been intolerable if he hadn’t retreated a little into his body again – the soles of his boots might actually have been melting. He had no idea how Cas was managing to move at all in his battered house shoes. As it was, the tattered belt of Cas’ coat caught on fire and they had to stomp it out, eventually just pulling it off and leaving it to burn. It made the same _shurring_ sound a tie does when it’s pulled out from under a collar, and then it was gone.

They pressed on; going as far as they could on solid ground, spatters of lava and magma hissing up from the violent sea. The vapor rising before them blocked his view completely but Dean somehow knew there was nothing but turbulence and tides beyond the heat and fire. They had to walk through it to get across. Maybe even jump off the cliff afterward and into the ocean. 

Dean did not appreciate the metaphor. 

He held a forearm over his mouth, breathing in just enough to yell. “All right, Cas. Time to make like a chicken and get to the other side. You ready?” Dean shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, trying to psyche himself up. 

Cas stopped walking. It snagged Dean’s momentum and pulled him back a little. “It’s a joke, Cas. I’ll explain it to you later, we gotta go now.”

Cas took a step backward.

“Come _on_ , man. We can’t stay here.”

Cas loosened his grip on Dean’s hand but didn’t pull away any further. His fingers hung against Dean’s knuckles, lifeless. “You should go without me, Dean. They’ll listen to you, help you get home.”

Dean thought for a second that the steam had gotten to him and he was hallucinating. But no, that was Cas’ hand in his, that was the smell of burning rubber coming from his boots. “What are you saying? You… You don’t want to go?” 

Cas shook his head and looked down at the coals under their feet. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He just could not believe it. “Jesus Christ, Cas. We came all this way. What was the point of any of it if you’re just gonna give up now?” 

“This was always the plan, Dean. I just… didn’t expect leaving you to be this hard.”

It hurt, more than falling down the cliff or being poisoned by Eve had. The words shattered and broke in his heart, finishing what the unicorn’s touch and his own desire had started. He was living in his body, all right, and it was tearing him apart.

“Cas… This whole time, you were just stringing me along until we got here? This _whole time_?”

“Since I found you with the Wild Things, yes. Dean, please try to understand.” His eyes were watery. Dean hoped it was because of something other than the smoke around them. “I destroyed my people, Dean. Massacred hundreds. Thousands. I’ll deserve anything they do to me. I don’t want to burden you with that. I don’t want them to not help you because I was there.”

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his mouth. Somewhere behind them a bit of molten rock fell into the abyss. For some reason he thought of Cas in the barn, all righteous fury and intimidation. Then of the same angel tucked carefully on a rock, dirty and tired and all the more wondrous for it.

Cas’ mouth moved without sound, the emotions finally overwhelming his brimming eyes and falling down his face in ugly tears. “I… I’m _scared_.”

“If they try to hurt you they’ll have to go through me first.”

Cas blinked, another tear falling, and breathed out like he’d been punched in the gut. 

Dean looked out into the steam. “I wanna go home, Cas. I want to see my brother and drive my car. I want to taste food and feel something other than numb. So I followed your fucking road and did what you fucking asked, because I trusted you. I trust you now. I trust _us_. Look what we did to get here! If those angel fucks think you’re not good enough as you are or that you deserve to be punished, then they can just try to stop us. We can do this, Cas, we _can_.”

He let go of Cas’ hand and planted his feet, made himself an immovable object come to see the mountain. “Remember your promise? Well, that goes double for me, too. You’re my friend, Cas, and I’m not leaving you here alone. It’s together or nothing. Your call.”

They stared at each other a moment, then Cas looked beyond Dean toward the cliff and the fire. Dean wondered what he was seeing, how this passageway worked when you were looking at it with eyes in two different realms.

Cas raised his chin and clenched his jaw. He leaned over and took Dean’s hand back, holding it tight. Decision made.

The only thing left to do was jump into the wall of steam. The heat of it was immense, unbearable; it burned through their feet and up their bodies until they were a conflagration, a forest fire. Dean held onto Cas as long as he could, their palms melding together, and did his best to repair the damage as it happened. He heard screaming and the crash of waves—

— the buzz of bees hitting the glass of a window —

— a carefully tended garden —

— and then _light_. 

It filled his vision, searing his night-blind eyes. It was devastating in its intensity, brighter than the sun after ages of darkness. It touched him, electricity crackling up his arm and over his arched back. His mind became awash in impressions of _familiarity_ and _trust_ and _forgiveness_. The light pulled away slowly, making itself smaller without diminishing any of its power. Dean’s eyes adjusted enough to see how the hint of color at its core was different than the brightness around it — a nebula clothed in stars. 

The only blemish in the brilliance was a tiny speck of darkness in the exact center; a man-shaped dot suspended in static. If he concentrated Dean could hear the hiss and pop of it, the background noise the light made by merely existing. 

Dean empathized with the man-speck; he felt small, suspended, overwhelmed. He looked down at his body, curled fetal around a glow at its core where his heart should have been. The glow looked… _felt_ … tarnished. Weary. Small and rusted next to the grace of the light-being beside him. There was a taste at the back of his tongue he couldn’t identify but left him gagging on coppery salt. 

A luminous spark trailed behind the light as it moved, the end looped snuggly around Dean’s right hand like a thread around a finger. He made a fist around it. The spark twanged, vibrating along the length of his arm to echo around his imperfect core. Dean knew the feel of that, knew it without memory. Knew it in the bones of his being and the scar on his shoulder.

Cas. Castiel.

Dean supposed he really hadn’t been exaggerating about being the size of the Chrysler building.

When the angel was a fair distance away it pulsed, ripples flowing outward from that central speck. Dean felt a wave go through his body – it was a message, the meaning lost in a language he didn’t know. He felt like a fish quivering with the thud of someone hitting the side of his tank. The being made of light ( _Cas_ , it was _Cas_ ) moved even further away and Dean could finally see its edges (like a jellyfish, _mnemiopsis leidyi_ ) and some of the world around it. 

Cas pulsed again, the wave traveling up the strange honeycomb that made up this plane of existence. The weave was made of a thicker, darker radiance; each loop in the netting carried a smaller light inside, the tiny spark crackling energy back into the comb itself. One section towards the far reaches of Dean’s vision held two lights flickering and bouncing into one another. When Cas’ second pulse hit their square one of the little lights went flickering and dashing along the web itself, dimming its light into almost nonexistence, riding the honeycomb to an empty chamber a couple rows over. It reconnected with the square, energy lighting up the boundaries of its little section.

Dean looked at the eternal pattern, the honeycomb of heaven, and thought about souls being the currency of the realm. Of people being used as batteries and bullets in a war between factions. _Jesus Christ_ , he thought. _Heaven is the fucking Matrix._ And right on the heels of that thought: _No wonder Cas likes bees so much._

He remembered Ash in a Mexican wrestling mask and nodded his head to the blip of light. Dean hoped he and Castiel’s entry hadn’t caused too much attention for the little guy. 

The shining galaxy, the wavelength of celestial intent, the brightest thing Dean had ever seen – _his friend Cas_ – had settled into stillness, its intensity and colors paler. It was listening for something. 

He and Castiel waited there for a long time, suspended in the honeycomb and connected by the faintest light of a star holding Dean’s hand. Then the web around them shuddered. A wave of light passed over them, the answer to a call. And Dean didn’t have to understand it to know what it meant.

The angels were coming.

He could see them, fast approaching lights in the distance, a riot of space and vastness. Some of the lights had specks, some didn’t. Some sparked along the edges of their beings in what Dean hoped was excitement; others remained hazy and nervous behind their brethren. 

(The idea that Dean could protect anyone from something like this was laughable. Cas had surely known that when he jumped.)

One light in particular led the charge, hurtling toward them so quickly Dean called out a warning for Castiel to run – though the sound came out flat and his friend didn’t move. The angels collided like the big bang, lights interweaving, braiding, merging, breaking apart again. The strand Dean clutched with all his strength went taut and pulled the two angels back like it was the world’s weirdest bungee cord. 

The newcomer – smaller now that Dean could see it clearly, and not as vibrant – spun around Castiel, their edges sparkling where they touched, fireworks glinting off the Impala’s chrome. And Dean heard the angel’s voice, vibrating through his body like a struck tuning fork: **Welcome brother. Welcome Castiel.**

On Earth the sound would have been too loud to bear. Here where it was meant to be heard it was so joyous, so _rapturous_ , that Dean feared he knew nothing of true happiness.

The new angel seemed to recover itself, separating reluctantly from Castiel. They hovered near one another, sparks of energy and light pulsing between them. They were talking, Dean realized, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. 

Eventually the sparks stopped and they slowly approached Dean, the thread of light between he and Castiel growing shorter. Dean held on to it all the tighter, just in case. Another tendril tentatively reached out toward Dean’s cheek; it crackled with static-electricity and he was sure his hair was standing on end. At its touch he heard a new sound.

**Dean.**

It was just same as Cas had always said it; deep, reverberating, only this time it came as a ribbon of light echoing down the tendril, a pulse from the core of Castiel to Dean’s own shiny center, where it was absorbed and bounced back again – a circuit of grace and spirit attained with such ease he barely knew it was happening. 

Huh. So _that’s_ what ‘profound bond’ meant.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was lost in the cacophony around him, though he couldn’t actually hear anything with his physical ears. Like an explosion in the vacuum of space. He had no idea how the massive being before him could even see him clearly let alone comprehend his call but it did, perhaps more clearly here than in any other conversation they’d ever had. Castiel heard the questions under the word, the _pain-fear-affection_ , the need to claim a part of this otherworldly consciousness as something familiar. The light of his being contracted inward on the speck like a star collapsing into a black hole, curling in on itself until the constriction must surely be painful, filling in the seams until Dean could make out the confines of Jimmy Novak’s body again, the familiar wrinkled contours of his coat. The light spilled out from behind his eyes and mouth and the excess pooled around his shoulders like… Well, like wings. Or the tails of two comets suspended in space.

Dean was holding his hand again.

Cas settled himself into his vessel and turned to Dean once more. He blinked, the light dimming just a little behind his eyelids. “Dean, you look…” Cas smiled pleasantly with his vessel’s mouth - but Dean could still see parts of his actual being and it was dancing, sparks shooting everywhere but especially toward him. Dean raised his other hand and the sparks leapt to it, like the lightning in a globe at museums or fancy toy stores. Cas cleared his throat. “Heaven looks good on you.”

Dean squinted down at his own tiny bronze soul and didn’t see anything special. And nothing at all like the arcing rainbow of Castiel’s true form.

Cas took a breath and shook his head, recovering from wherever his mind had drifted away to. He gestured to the other angel floating patiently behind him, awaiting introductions. “Dean, this is Samandriel. Forgive his appearance; he has yet to pursue an earthly vessel.”

 _Samandriel_ was gloriously luminous, condensed down to a pinprick of violent light small enough to converse with the human before it. A wisp of radiance - hesitant, nervous – hovered between them until Dean realized what Samandriel was asking for and nodded. The wisp wrapped around Dean’s other wrist and he heard its voice ringing through his body. It left a residue of hopeful innocence in his sinuses; he sneezed to dislodge a little of it.

**It is an honor to meet the Righteous Man, Dean Winchester. Castiel has told the host much about you.**

Dean hated that title, still, years after it meant anything. He ignored Samandriel, turning back to Cas. “What they say about sending us back? Can they do it?”

“The passage between realms is relatively simple when performed by a high ranking seraph. Samandriel is fairly confident it will be successful.”

“Hallelujah to that. Where can we find one of those? I wanna make with the clicking heels together, dude.” 

“Dean. There’s been a… minor issue.”

He knew it was too good to be true. “Okay, hit me. What’s the catch?”

“I prostrated myself before the angels and offered myself for punishment. I only asked that they hear my prayer and send you home first.”

“Damn it, Cas, we talked about this! You are not a bartering chip!”

 **I agree.** Samandriel fizzled, drawing both their attentions. **Heaven was intended as a place of redemption and peace but has drifted far afield in the Father’s absence. We need to start healing our own before we can do the same to the souls in our care.**

“Huh.” So maybe there was such a thing as non-dick angels who weren’t Cas. “Not everything’s sunshine and roses, though. What about them?” He nodded toward the small cluster of lights hovering in the distance, energy bouncing quietly between them. As much as sentient ball of light could have emotions they certainly seemed to be acting nervous. Or maybe ‘agitated’ was the better word.

Cas refused to look Dean in the eye, watching the honeycomb flicker around them instead. “When I razed heaven I rooted out the nonbelievers from our midst. All the angels left are loyal to me, like Samandriel, or were willing to pretend to be so. Or were on assignment somewhere else at the time.” He looked over his shoulder to the shyer angels. “It’s likely some of my compatriots don’t believe I deserve redemption.”

“And you agree with them, right? Damn it, Cas. Haven’t you been sorry long enough?” 

Cas snorted bitterly, finally catching Dean’s eye. “Hypocrite.”

“Lite-brite.”

The snarking came naturally, like they’d been doing it forever. It felt good. He couldn’t help but smile when Cas frowned and rolled his eyes at yet another reference he didn’t understand.

Samandriel seemed to be taking the high road and ignoring both of them. **I understand your concerns, Dean – may I call you Dean? – but please know that you are not alone in your love of Castiel. My brothers and I are aware that his crimes were horrendous. The damage is extensive but that is all the more reason for him to be welcome among us.**

“I don’t understand.”

Cas glanced at Samandriel, the sad little line appearing between his eyebrows again. “My brothers have extended an invitation for me to heal among them for awhile, correct some of the mistakes I’ve made. A new hierarchy is settling into place… and they want my help with the organization. Apparently not a lot of leaders survived the onslaught. I can’t imagine why.” 

**Oh, Castiel. We understand it was not wholly your fault.** Samandriel extended a tendril toward Cas’ shoulder and caressed the light he found there. **You’ve been touched by God; your worth lies in more than your deeds. We would have welcomed you regardless.**

Dean eyed the other angels and thought the appropriate pronoun should have been ‘I’ instead of ‘we’.

Cas was looking around, too, but he seemed less suspicious than Dean thought he ought to be. He was almost proud. “Heaven has changed a lot since my time here. It is barren but much warmer, despite the emptiness.”

A tingle shimmied up Dean’s spine and straight into his brain. It had never occurred to Dean, not once during the long hump through purgatory, that the place he and Cas called ‘home’ might be different. They’d worked so hard to _leave_ and now Cas had the chance to _stay_. It wasn’t fair.

The light at the center of Dean wavered for a second, just long enough for the flickering shadow to gain Cas’ attention… right when Dean didn’t want it. He cleared his throat. “So. Heaven got an overhaul, huh? You think you could be happy here, Cas?”

“Oh, Dean. Dean, no. I swore I’d never leave you again.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe you shouldn’t have.” 

“Dean-“

“Remember the Red Bull, Cas? ‘Cause I do. There’s more than one kind of destruction, you know. And some of it you do to yourself.” 

Cas shook his head, eyes watering again. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I swore I’d never leave you again, Dean. _I swore it_.”

“I know, dude, I know. And I believe you. But forget about _me_ for a minute. Forget _them_. What do _you_ want, Cas? You. Do you want to stay?”

Cas hesitated, and in that briefest of moments Dean knew the answer was _yes_. He let go of Cas’ desperate grip and rubbed hard at his own bottom lip. He let his hand rest there to hide the trembling in his chin. “Wow. I did not see that coming.”

It was ridiculously hard to maintain his composure. Cas wasn’t fairing much better, though it was even harder for Dean to look at him. At some point in the conversation Samandriel had excused himself and retreated back to the safety of Cas’ other supporters. At least they didn’t have much of an audience for their potential breakdowns; just a couple dozen souls whose heavens happened to be near the gateway out of purgatory. Dean bet the view from the high-rises sucked.

“You could stay.”

Cas’ voice was so quiet Dean wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “What?”

“You could stay. I could make a place for you here. Surely heaven is better than purgatory? We…” He swallowed and wrapped his arms around his body, hands hugging the opposite elbow. “We could be together here. It could be nice.”

Dean’s brain refused to engage on that one so his mouth started without his actual permission. “No. No, I can’t, dude. I – Not that I don’t want to, ‘cause I _do_ , it’s just. There’s Sammy and…” And nothing else, really, if he was honest with himself. Everything else he loved – his car, food, TV, hunting – it was all just surface stuff. Easily replaced. He supposed it was sad when the only thing tying a person to the world was their brother. But family was what mattered. 

And his was breaking. 

“I don’t think I’m ready for this, Cas. The whole sacred honeybee thing’s kinda throwing me for a loop, you know?” The joke fell flat, as he knew it would. He looked into Cas’ eyes and watched as a single bead of liquid light fell from them when he blinked. ( _Tears in Heaven,_ and hell no, this was not the time for him to get Clapton lyrics stuck in his head.) 

Dean rubbed his own eyes and conjured up a smile from somewhere. “This doesn’t have to be the end, right? I mean, there’s no rule that says you can’t come visit. Or… hell, you know how often we Winchesters die. Though I suppose I’ll have to keep it clean in order to stay on the VIP list.” The smile faded and Dean didn’t try to retrieve it. He looked into the molten core of his angel’s eyes as he’d done so many times before. “This isn’t a no. It’s just… not yet.”

Cas blinked, more light falling from him, and just breathed. He rushed forward, hands clutching Dean’s hair and hauling him close. “Enough thinking.” 

Their lips crashed together, a shower of sparks and pop-rock sizzle sputtering down Dean’s spine. Then something gave – Dean’s ears popped – and it wasn’t a kiss at all anymore. Cas’ light poured into Dean through the seal of their lips. It wrapped around him, pulsing, fluttering; he was suspended, held inside something big. He’d never felt cherished before. So Dean opened around it and let it in.

The light burned through him without heat, the shudder of a thousand orgasms bursting through the heart of him. He could feel his soul tingling around the edges and trying so hard to melt into the touch of that beautiful blazing being. So he let himself go, arching and rubbing against the invasion like an offering on an alter. The light shuddered and merged around him, holy communion of the filthiest kind. They danced together, nebulas and galaxies forming in the places where they mixed into one.

It was all-encompassing and obsessive _love_ and it was _Castiel_. His Cas, how he _felt_ , and it was the craziest, hottest, freakiest, _best_ thing Dean had ever known. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed clasped together, feeding each other grace and strength and love, but Dean knew it wasn’t long enough. Could never be enough. He could spend eternity wrapped up in Castiel… and eternity was a very long time. 

He heard a rumble behind him, an echo reverberating through the honeycomb – the angelic version of clearing one’s throat. 

Dean didn’t give a rat’s ass who or what was watching or what they had to say about anything. He was happy where he was. But Cas slowly began the long and terrible process of disconnecting their parts and placing them back into their bodies. Just before closing them off from each other completely he caressed a tendril of _Cas_ against the bronze ball of _Dean_. A lingering kiss. A fingerprint on his heart.

Cas let their foreheads rest together with a gentle bump and finally withdrew his mouth from Dean’s. An ember trickled between their lips; it floated away, a firefly in the night.

He pressed his scratchy cheek to Dean’s, whispering in his ear. “No ending is forever, Dean, remember that. And remember my vow. I will always be watching and I will always come when you call.” 

Dean wanted to say something smart or smartass, something to cut through the lump in his throat and the sentimentality clogging up his veins – hell, even just _ditto_ like some Patrick Swayze schmuck – but Cas’ hands slipped down to his chest and _pushed._


	10. Chapter 10

Dean had thought – all right, Dean had _hoped_ – that when he finally got out Sam would be there with the Impala parked outside and a bag of greasy burgers waiting in the passenger seat. It was all he could think about in the first long nights of purgatory, when he allowed himself to think about it at all. Before he’d made himself stop thinking altogether.

But when Dean opened his eyes to the world of the living, his brother wasn’t there. _No one_ was there, and the only food around for miles was probably tainted with hazardous chemicals. He was in the lab where they’d ganked Dick, the walls coated with congealed leviagoo. He half expected that he’d have to fight his way out of bigmouth central but the whole building was deserted; papers left on tables and screensavers going nuts, like all the drones had left in the middle of the workday for a fire alarm. 

There were signs of a fight in the lobby, broken glass and such, but there weren’t any more goo smears. The leviathans were just… gone.

Outside the large sign was broken and Dean, for a heart stopping second, flashed back to running through a croat ravaged city until he remembered their plan to have Meg be a diversion. It still rankled him to know she’d been behind the wheel of his baby, however briefly. 

The Impala was long gone now, though, either to leviathans, demons, or his escaping brother. Dean sent a silent prayer for the latter and felt a warm brush against his heart in return. _Thanks, Cas._

He would have to walk.

+++

Dean had a plan for tracking down Sam, but he had a few hurdles to overcome first. Starting with the fact that he was back on the plane where his body belonged and that meant food and shelter and sleep were necessities. He hadn’t had to worry about those things in forever but after his stomach cramped and his feet started complaining it came back pretty quickly. He’d done something this once or twice before, after all.

The only cash he had available were the worn bills squirreled away inside his beaten up wallet but it was enough to hit the first gas station he could find for some power bars and the biggest jug of water he could find. It wasn’t until the door was dinging above him and the teenager behind the counter made to call 911 that he encountered his second hurdle. The mirrors hanging in the corners confirmed it – covered head to toe in monster blood was not a good look for Dean Winchester. There was an especially garish smudge around his mouth that was clearly a handprint.

Dean robbed the place, in the end. He wasn’t proud of it ( _my bad, Cas, hope that wasn’t a deal breaker_ ) but he got to use his gun again and it kept the kid from calling the cops until he was already hoofing it out of there, so win-win. Plus, free gas station goodies. The bars were nasty, grainy, and far too sweet; but he hadn’t tasted anything in however long he’d been gone (aside from Cas’ tongue and a couple monster souls, which said way too much about his life choices lately) so he decided to toughen it out and power through. The water was better, anyway.

Dean remembered it was the same after his return from hell.

He left the kid’s car in a Wal-Mart parking lot and hoofed it to the one place a hunter could get everything he wanted, so long as he was willing to look like a homeless maniac while he got it: the truck stop. Safe and clean or skeezy and gross, you place your bets and you take your chances. Usually the more ‘homegrown’ stops had the crappiest security but Dean wasn’t exactly concerned with lying low at the moment. There was a Pilot right off the highway where he snuck a shower and a new ride.

Miracle of miracles, his credit cards were still valid and working. Which made the last part of the plan a little easier: obtain a laptop and track Sammy down. After a few false starts Frank’s lessons paid off – there was his baby brother, pixelated and sniffling on the video feed from the closest gas station near Roman Enterprises.

The date on the CCTV meant a year had passed while Dean was in purgatory. A whole year topside, when it had felt so very much longer. Still, he supposed, it could have been a lot worse. Time was a funny thing, after all.

+++

Hunting his brother turned out to be easier than he thought it would be. Sam pretty much drove a straight line out of Illinois across the Four States and into Texas. He’d been using his real name, too, which came as something of a surprise. The address Dean got from the motel guy turned out to be an actual _house_ , another surprise. He stood at the curb for a minute, just looking, watching. There was a black tailfin sticking out from under a tree in the driveway – that had to be the right place.

He knocked, butterflies in his stomach. Something barked and scratched against the other side of the door and Dean damn near pulled his bowie knife when Sam answered, pushing a dog behind his knee. He had a big smile on his face and didn’t hesitate to open the door, no signs of paranoia or caution. Dean didn’t even see any sigils on the doorframe.

Sam’s smile disappeared when he saw who’d turned up on his porch. Dean had seen that look on his brother’s face way too many times for him to easily forget it.

“Dean?”

“Heya, Sammy.”

Sam stepped forward and Dean braced himself for a right hook, a splash of holy water in his face, the slash of a knife – anything except what actually happened: his brother collapsing his giant monkey arms around his shoulders and dragged him in close. Dean panicked for the briefest of seconds (too much heat, too much _touch_ ) but forced himself to relax against the soft-hard muscles of Sam’s chest. His flannel shirt scratched Dean’s chin and Sam’s aftershave was damn near overpowering, but he allowed it anyway. 

Sam tucked his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, his voice muffled against the battered leather. “I thought you were gone forever this time.”

“Come on, Sammy. You know no one ever stays dead in this family.” 

“Yeah. Except when they do.” It wasn’t until Dean heard his ragged breathing that he realized Sam was about to actually cry. And it was another full minute until he thought to raise his own arms to return Sam’s embrace. He turned into a real manhug to bolster them through the tension, with slaps on the back and downcast eyes when they finally pulled away.

Sam sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He turned back to the house – the dog was going apeshit behind the screen door. “Come in, man, you look like shit. How the hell did you get out?”

“Cas. And a really long ass walk.” Dean shuffled past the doorway, watching Sam push the dog – some kind of shepherd collie thing – into another room and close the door. He shuffled in his broken, slightly-melted boots, hesitant to leave the edges of the welcome mat. “You gonna check me out or…”

Sam jumped a little. “Uh, yeah, shit. Let me –” He pulled a silver knife out of his back pocket – one of the pair they’d picked up in Memphis after their Dad died. The shock of the blade on his forearm was a welcome one; it helps get his thoughts in order. 

Sam had to go into the kitchen for the salt and holy water. The _kitchen_. He clearly had not been expected something potentially dangerous to follow him home. The apple pie life had surely made him stupid, if not soft. Dean would have to fix that.

He cupped a palm over the shallow cut, healing it absently while he looked around his brother’s living room. There were boxes stacked up in the corners, plastic still on some of the furniture. It smelled nauseatingly of fresh paint and pine-sol.

A toilet flushed down the hallway alongside the sound of water running, and then the light tread of a woman on the thick carpet soon moved toward him. She was wiping her hands with a towel when Dean got his first good look at her, willow-thin and in comfortable clothes. 

“That was quick," she said. "Did you have enough for a tip?” 

She stopped when she saw Dean standing by her couch, a deer caught in oncoming headlights. Pretty and tall with dark curly hair; more Dean’s type than Sam’s, but she might’ve been just the right height to kiss his brother. 

The moving boxes and fresh paint. The _dog_. Of course there’d be a girl to go along with it all. 

She swallowed nervously but didn’t call for Sam. Dean was well aware he’d lost the knack of making himself appear harmless sometime between hell and his thirtieth birthday. The awareness of his work sat heavy in the lines of his face; though he could usually be counted on to pull out a smile for the rubes during interviews. He had no idea what his eyes were telling her now but he could see the pulse beating rapidly in the pale bow of her neck all the way across the room.

Sam came back with a glass and rubbed his hands together, glancing from where they stood to the girl on the other side of the room. Dean downed his ‘drink’ in one gulp. 

“Um. Dean, this is Amelia. Amelia, this is my brother Dean. Turns out he wasn’t quite as dead as we thought?” He ended that sentence with a nervous laugh, his gestures all happy surprise and frightened confusion. Sam never had been that good of an actor when it counted.

Amelia swallowed again and rested a hand in the hollow of her throat. She made an effort to work past her fear, though, and Dean could respect that. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean. Sam’s talked a lot about you.”

His smile came a little more easily, a little more devil-may-care. “All true, I’m sure. Except the part about being dead, of course. No zombie apocalypse for you. But still – work on that cardio, right?”

“Right. Dean?” Sam had his _damage control_ gameface on. Apparently Dean’d laid it on a little too thick with that one. “You wanna sit down? I can get you a beer or something.”

“Uh… Can we go outside instead? Sit on the steps or something? Where we can talk.” Dean didn’t think Sam caught the hesitation in his voice, the rising edge of panic creeping into every breath of lemon fresh air. He needed to be away from the walls for awhile. But Sam’s shoulders fell and he knew he didn’t do as good a job of hiding his nerves as he’d hoped he had.

Dean nodded at Amelia and left the glass on the coffee table. Then he made a break for it.

There were trees outside Sam’s house, lots of them, and just having them in his line of sight made his shoulders relax. He raised his face to the sun and stretched out over the porch stairs, tempted to take off his boots and put his toes in the grass. It was nice there, a nice neighborhood. He was a little surprised Sam chose it, honestly; if there was one thing they’d learned early on it was that the nicest neighbors had the dirtiest secrets.

Sam flopped down a few steps higher than Dean so they could talk at eye level without actually having to look each other in the eye. “Jesus, Dean. I still can’t believe you made it out.”

“Neither can I.”

Sam tucked his left foot under the railing so it’d fit better, fidgeting until he was comfortable and then going very still. "Can I ask… What was it like?"

Dean shrugged. "Pretty much what you'd expect. Dark. Bloody. Full of monsters." He paused for a second, trying to think of something positive to talk about. "I killed a nue. You know, from that website you found with the shojo?"

Sam nodded, sticking his lip out in consideration. "That's cool, I guess."

“Yeah. Talked to a unicorn."

"You lie.” 

“Hand to god.”

“Seriously? Did it shoot rainbows out of its ass?"

"No! See, that's the first thing I thought of, too." 

Sam snorted while Dean considered everything else he’d done in purgatory. Killed Gordon again. Learned how to use his soul as a duracel. Made friends with a couple fairytale monsters. Kissed an angel. 

He thought about all those things. But didn’t actually talk about them. Old habits and all that.

“How’d things go on your end? This place looks awfully peaceful to be in the grips of a violent takeover. What happened to the leviathans?”

“As far as I know, nothing. They’re just gone. Like Dick took them all with him when he blew up. Roman Enterprises went bankrupt and their products got pulled from the market. Looks like someone’s giving us a happy ending, after all.”

“There are no happy endings, Sam, because nothing ever ends.” _The stories just change after awhile._ The memory had Dean curling his fingernails into his knees. “The big mouths are probably just hiding and plotting their comeback tour. Biding their time.” Sam nodded a little and Dean looked away, blowing out a frustrated sigh.

Dean paused for a three-count and took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, then gave Sam the side-eye. “So. Amelia, huh?”

No matter how big his little brother got Dean could always count on bringing up girls to make him blush. “It’s a long story. One night stand that turned into something else. She’s nice. I like her a lot, Dean.”

“I can’t believe my baby brother’s playing house.” Sam nodded, looking a little overwhelmed himself. Dean couldn’t help reminisce about those months at Lisa’s, jumping at shadows and playing make-believe. It’d never felt right, not like something he’d actually wanted. But Sam… Sam never did anything halfway; once he made up his mind there was no changing it, come hell or high water. He wondered if Sam was even hunting at all, anymore. 

“Does she know? About all this.” Dean tilted his chin to take in the happy neighborhood though Sam knew he meant what was usually hidden _underneath_ the all those picket fences.

Sam shook his head, looking down. “She thinks you died fighting overseas.”

“Well, she’s not wrong.” 

“Like her husband.”

 _Yeesh_. “That sounds complicated. You gonna tell her the truth?”

Sam shook his head again and they lapsed into silence. They sat there, listening to Amelia or maybe the dog move around in the house behind them. Sam inhaled and turned to Dean, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Where’s Cas? Did he come back with you?”

“No. Had to make a pit stop first. Wanted to ruffle a few feathers in heaven.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He was last I saw him. Shining and halfway to happy.”

A battered Toyota pulled up to Sam’s driveway. The driver bent over to fiddle with something in the glove box and Dean tensed up like a hunting dog when a bird landed in its yard. 

Sam must’ve seen his hand creep toward the pocket where he kept his machete, now the home of the purgatory blade, but didn’t react one way or the other. The driver climbed out of the car – a pizza held in both hands. Dean deflated, the adrenaline leaving his body in a rush. 

Sam used a big hand on Dean’s shoulder to haul his ass off the steps and greeted the pizza man at the curb, cutting the guy off at the pass to keep him from getting closer and wigging out his PTSD brother. Dean shifted on the steps and yelled loud enough to carry to the street. “Careful he doesn’t slap your rear!” 

Sam moved the box to one hand and flicked Dean off without even looking at him. Dean was still snickering when he took the food into the house, the smell of hot cheese and bread lingering in his wake. 

Sam stayed inside for awhile (probably to smooth thing over with Amelia) but came back out with paper plates full of pizza and two beers. “Sorry. All we ordered was Hawaiian.”

“ _Gimme._ ” 

Somehow in the rush to find Sam Dean had forgotten completely about alcohol. Probably a good thing; the beer tasted nasty, a riot of conflicting flavors and bitter on his tongue. The pizza made up for it, though – greasy and cheesy and just the right texture, like everything he’d dreamed of in purgatory. He didn’t even pick off the pineapple, which seemed to startle Sam more than anything else had that night, even his dead brother showing up at his door. 

Dean laughed at him and shoved more pizza in his mouth. “Sorry to barge in on you like this. I probably should have called first.”

“I would have hung up. It’s not every day your brother comes back from the dead. Every week, maybe.” They shared a smile. Sam put his plate behind him on the porch and leaned forward, hands dangling between his knees and suddenly serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out.”

The pizza – delicious before – tasted ashy. He gulped down the hunk in his mouth and washed it down with beer. “Don’t worry about it, Sam.”

“There wasn’t going to be another eclipse for eleven months and there was no way to tell you when and where to expect the portal. I didn’t have the entire incantation, either, and you know we don’t fuck around with stuff like that.” 

“And there’s the whole blood of the virgin thing.”

“Hey, it never specified you had to kill the person to get the blood or that you had to take it all at once. _Loophole_. It was the blood of a purgatory beast that was giving me trouble. There’s been a limited number of those walking around since the leviathans disappeared. So I was literally sitting in a hotel twiddling my thumbs and picturing the two of you alone in monster hell.” Sam gulped the rest of his beer and started picking at the label. “I thought a lot about what Bobby said. How we should let stuff go and not do anything stupid. So eventually I just…”

“Stopped trying.” Sam nodded, thumb peeling away at the sticky paper. There was glare on the horizon to the west as the sun sank slowly behind the houses; Dean watched it disappear instead of looking at his brother. “I think I knew that.” 

The sky changed to a pale pink, then orange, then finally into early summer blue. It was black by the time the moon rose, though nowhere near as dark as Dean was used to. The moon was a flimsy crescent between power lines and Dean can’t help but marvel at the _wrongness_ of it. He had the biggest urge to tilt his head and howl, calling up the fullness of the moon and setting the sky to rights, let the hidden creepy crawlies know this was _his_ space. He imagined teaching Sam a different way to protect his house, the two of them standing somewhere high and letting the world know it was theirs for the taking. His mouth actually watered at the idea, his throat opening to let it all out…

But no. This was his brother next to him, _Sam_ , and he didn’t need to fight for every scrap of peace he could find. Not anymore. He closed his eyes and touched the place on his chest where the unicorn touched him, where the amulet had rested all those years. He could feel his heart beating inside the confines of his ribs. They were his again, to live in and control. He felt solid, secure… trapped. Held in place by bonds he could almost enjoy, if he let himself. 

Sam looked like he wanted to touch Dean, to place a heavy hand against his shoulder and rub the pain away, but they had rules against things like that, against casual comfort. For a split second he regretted his own stubbornness and missed Cas terribly. God, he missed Cas with everything in him.

“Dean. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I dunno, Sam. I hope so.” He snorted. Hell, even that was an improvement over the last couple times he’d jumped ship into the afterlife. He _hoped_ he’d get better. And that was enough of a start, he supposed.

“So what are you gonna do now?”

Dean frowned, looking into the sky for constellations. He didn’t see any he recognized. “I’m sure there’s something to hunt out there somewhere.” And he had to ask Sam, the words bubbling out of him without thought, even though he already knew the answer. “You comin’ with me?”

Sam flicked the shredded pieces of paper off his jeans and into the grass. “I… I don’t know. I mean, we just got settled here and Amelia’s dad’s coming down tomorrow.” He snorted and shook his head. “I’m _meeting_ her _family_ , Dean. It’s surreal.” 

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth and set his bottle down. “Hell, man, I don’t blame you; I even tried the civilian life myself once. You keep at it – family’s hard to come by these days.”

“Dean.” Sam looked a little like his heart was breaking. (Like he had the devil riding his shoulder again, or a wolfgirl asking for a bullet.) But Sam was an adult now, and his eyes were dry. “Stay. You should stay. You just got back, we don’t even know what that means yet. You can sleep on the couch or we could get you a bed –“  
But Dean was already shaking his head. “No. I need to keep moving, Sam. I’ve got too many monsters on my tail to stop just yet.”

For a moment Sam looked stricken; the expression so incredibly hounddogish that it startled a laugh past the burning in Dean’s chest. “Not _literally_ , you dork, geeze. It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been moving for so long it doesn’t feel right to stop yet. Gimme your phone.” It took him a second to figure out how to operate the screen – cell phones had gone and gotten _fancy_ in the year he’d been gone – but eventually he typed his new number into Sam’s contacts. “When – _if_ this falls apart… If you ever need anything, you call me. I won’t be far away.”

“Same here, man. Even if, you know, you just want to talk. The door’s always open.” 

Dean geared himself up to go. He stood, went to hand Sam back his phone – only to have his brother grab his wrist instead. Sam’s eyes were watery where they stared at that connection, the tiny bit of skin where they touched. His chin quivered, ever so slightly.

Dean refused to believe it was weak to need something from someone you love. And he should have taught Sammy that by now. To hell with chick-flicks and being strong. 

Dean used his other hand to set the phone on the porch and twisted Sam’s grip until their fingers were laced properly, palm to palm. He tightened his grip until his knuckles went white and Sam took in a deep shaky breath, holding onto his hand with just as much fierceness. 

Dean didn’t look away from Sam this time. He stared down his brother the same way he dared monstrous beasts. Daring him to run and hide.

Sam looked back at him, for once the shorter of the two, and slowly their breath synced together, like it had when they were boys curled together on the backseat and telling stories. 

Sam rolled their joined hands, a tender smile stealing onto his face. “Even you can’t wander forever, Dean. You’re gonna need to stop eventually.”

“Maybe. But not for a long time yet. There’s always more road.” He grinned, easy as the moon. “And you’ll be holding down the fort until I reach the end of it, won’t you? Fucking Ward Cleaver.”

It startled a laugh out of Sam and he ducked his head, wide mouth spreading into his little boy grin and showing all his teeth. He patted his other hand over their clasped one and Dean used the momentum to pull him into a hug, a proper one this time. It felt good, right, like all was well with the world. Or at least their little pocket of it.

After all, Dean did wuv hugs.

Sam sniffed and shifted backward, smile lingering. He loosened his death grip on Dean’s hand and dug a ring with three keys out of his jeans pocket, taking one of them off. Dean recognized it with a sudden and fierce hunger clawing up his gut. 

Sam settled the key squarely in Dean’s greedy palm. “I think this belongs to you. If you’re gonna hunt then you need a hunter’s ride, right?”

+++

The Impala was as beautiful as she’d been in his dreams. Sam had even respected her like the lady she was and didn’t install any weird iThings onto her dash like last time Dean had gone walkabout. Her engine roared when he revved her up, a clarion call to something healing and guttural in his soul. Sam’s repair work to her grill and front fender wasn’t exactly _perfect_ but it was all right; certainly something for Dean to be proud of, anyway.

After hugging his brother one last time, Dean drove away from the suburb full of picket fence bliss and down the road into the yawning darkness of the night. 

It felt good having his baby around him again, just the two of them burning up the blacktop. The highway around them was quiet except for the rush of wind through the open window; the road was one of the older ones, rural, with trees boxing in the two lanes on either side. 

He didn’t make it far until he had to pull over onto the dark tar of the highway. The trees before him were rocking in the wind, the rustling shushing sound that had been his constant companion for time uncounted. He watched the branches sway back and forth, to and fro, and missed his family.

Sam was… not out of his reach, not really, but not exactly his anymore. He’d moved on. Grown up. Gotten what he wanted. Or was getting close to it, anyway.

There wasn’t any rule that said it had to be one way or the other, that they had to choose between being a monster or a man. Being a person or a hunter. They – _Dean_ – could be both. All he had to be was himself… and he was starting to see how that could be enough.

He didn’t think it was a _deus ex unico_ that brought him reeling back into his body, back onto the path. It might have helped, sure, but he thought it’d started before that. When he made the decision to reach out and hold a friend’s hand in a land full of monsters, and to hell with the consequences.

He sat in the leather cushioned heart of his baby and watched the trees dance in the breeze. Then he closed his eyes and prayed.

+++

 

+++

God’s finger hovered over the DELETE key more times than he cared to think about.

Of course, it wasn’t an _actual_ DELETE key; there wasn’t a computer or typewriter big enough for the Big Guy to get his thoughts down on. It was a metaphor for the thing, to help move the story along. Worlds within worlds, everything revolving together, all that jazz. God liked metaphors.

He also liked the world. And the things in it always stopped Him from going all the way, reminded him of what it felt like to be alone in the universe. Of the glory of finally _connecting_. It was the little things, generally – the brilliant madness of creatures put out to pasture, brothers finding the strength to not need each other so badly, children holding hands in the dark.

People creating stories to pass the time.

Naturally, he had his favorites; all writers did. He didn’t think anyone would mind if he kept using the same plotlines over and over again, anyway. Mankind’s narrative had gone so far beyond what he’d originally planned for it that he was constantly surprised by their tenacity, their creativity, curious to see how far down the road to Happily Ever After they’d be willing to travel. 

It meant he was constantly revising and editing, moving things around until they worked _just right_. And then something would happen, something startling would change, and he’d have to do it all over again. The world was a never ending project. Something to do with eternity.

Because, after all, no story ever really ended. It just changed after awhile.


	11. Notes

**NOTES:**

 

Why did the angel and the hunter cross purgatory? To get to the other side.

This story is not at all what I intended it to be. I had an epiphany during the early stages of drafting this beast: if God is a writer then God is probably a _reader_ , too. The rest kind of fell into place. (The original plan was to have a monster push Dean aside and take control of his body/vessel. And while I love the idea of Dean being possessed by some purgatory hellbeast it just didn’t make sense in the world I’d created, so it had to go.) 

It also occurred to me halfway through writing this that the traditional purgatory salvation story didn’t have to be Dean’s and that there’s never a guarantee for a happy ending. Castiel follows the traditional path of Dante’s _Purgatorio_ , achieving “redemption” by attaining the virtues necessary to move forward. (The ascension up Mount Purgatory is also how the story’s organized; a chapter a level, more or less.) Dean’s journey more closely resembles Max’s in _Where the Wild Things Are_ – fitting, I think, when you consider how each character views traditional religion and literature.

I married the comma. We’re expecting a bouncing baby semicolon any day now. *throws rice**kills birds* *makes herself sad*

The translation for Castiel’s Latin in part is: "Lamb of God, you who take away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Grant us peace," from Dante. 

Each monster has its own forest, which reflects the nature and origin of the beast. They also have omens or familiars, such as the unicorn’s butterfly or Eve’s dragons.  
\- I wanted The Mother to be Russian because of her [connection with phoenixes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firebird_%28Slavic_folklore%29) so she was modeled after the [Mediterranean black widow](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latrodectus_tredecimguttatus). BTW, only the females of that species are venomous. Make of that what you will.  
\- The Wild Things live in [Sequoia National Park](http://www.nps.gov/seki/index.htm). Because it’s ancient and it’s huge and it makes me happy.  
\- The groth-golka is a monster from the [Cthulhu mythos](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu_Mythos_deities). In my head they look [like this](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Life_restoration_of_a_group_of_giant_azhdarchids,_Quetzalcoatlus_northropi,_foraging_on_a_Cretaceous_fern_prairie.png), only flying.  
\- A nue. The forest where Dean encounters Amy Pond again is an actual place, Aokigahara Forest in Japan, also known as the “Sea of Trees” and the “Suicide Forest”. It’s an interesting place with some creepy story potential, but don’t image search it unprepared _for the love of god_.

For more of my visual references check out my tumblr tags [here](http://snarklyboojum.tumblr.com/tagged/this-is-relevant-to-my-bigbang) and [here](http://snarklyboojum.tumblr.com/tagged/purgatory). And isn’t the art for this stunning? [YAY NOVAKIEL!](http://novakiel.livejournal.com/838.html)

I swear the unicorn scene was written before ‘Goodbye Stranger’ aired. The unicorn’s touch was a throwback to the line in _Wild Things_ : “And Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.” Speaking of the unicorn scene, it was heavily influenced by _The Last Unicorn_ by Peter S. Beagle, a favorite of mine as a kid. I also referenced it when Benny made an appearance; he was always calling Dean “brother” in the show, so he kind of became Dean’s harpy. Dangerous and caught sleeping, just like Dean. ( _”We are sisters, you and I. Set me free.”_ ) Also, sorry about Benny. What can I say, Dean’s a dick sometimes.

It is my headcanon that when he was little and just learning how to read Dean loved _Where the Wild Things Are_. He’d check it out from every school library he went to and he’d read it to baby Sammy every night before bed. Dean even had a pet goldfish named Max. He won it at a carnival; his dad was so proud of his marksmanship he let Dean keep it the whole school year they were in Minnesota and even let him lug around the half full bowl on his lap when they drove across country for the poltergeist thing that summer. He didn’t remember what happened to that fish, but he knew it probably wasn’t good.

You can listen to Jensen Ackles singing ‘The Weight’ [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Izrc3QSXjg&list=PLQVBiwXtQnUJ1ZC-xgfh9YO7aQy8prf6y&index=14).  
It is also my headcanon that classic rock, the rumble of the impala, and John’s voice were the only lullaby Sam and Dean ever had. When their father was out hunting and it was just Dean and Sam on a double bed in some nameless town Dean would sing his brother to sleep. Sam’s favorite had been ‘The Weight’ and after a little while he’d sing along, clear and sleepy in the dark of a bedroom that wasn’t theirs. I also imagine that John asks Dean to sing this in the car one night after a hunt goes bad, maybe even after he lost Bill. Dean does, unsure why his daddy’s so upset, but willing to try anything to help.

I thought: if Dean were to ever, _ever_ get over his issues about Cas it’d be in a place where no one would see or judge them for it. Where he’d been stripped of his defenses and had no excuse anymore. Purgatory fits that bill pretty well.

Sam makes a piss poor Penelope, what can I say? I knew he wouldn’t be pining away for Dean, or even trying very hard to get him out – why else would they bring back Bobby if not to give the advice to not meddle? (Shut up. Trying to make logic work for this show is like unfolding a series of origami nesting dolls made out of a single piece of lettuce.)

Speaking of The Odyssey, the title is from this [Cream song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8hLc_nqx8g&list=PLQVBiwXtQnUJ1ZC-xgfh9YO7aQy8prf6y&index=7). Some of the alternate titles were: _Joseph Campbell Can Suck It_ and _Dante Alighieri Was a Lying Motherfucker (Maurice Sendak knew where it’s at.)_

[Here’s the playlist I made on youtube.](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQVBiwXtQnUJ1ZC-xgfh9YO7aQy8prf6y) I didn’t put the link on the masterpost because I didn’t have time to make it pretty or put the songs in any particular order and it’s a little ramshackle. Still. Congratulations! You made it to the end! Have some music.

 

ETA: The glorious [wisepuma23](http://wisepuma23.tumblr.com/) commissioned fan art for this from the fantastic [diminuel](http://diminuel.tumblr.com/). [Check it out!](http://wisepuma23.tumblr.com/post/95483045298/tales-of-brave-ulysses-an-inspired-piece-by)

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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